


Testing, Testing

by Kithri



Series: Mixed Feelings [2]
Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-08-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 17:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 160,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithri/pseuds/Kithri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to the PRT's Northeast General Testing and Research facility. As well as conducting all manner of parahuman-related research, they also conduct in-depth evaluations of new Protectorate and Ward capes within their catchment area. Now, it's time for Brockton Bay's newest Ward to be put through her paces.</p>
<p>A slice of life/world-building piece focused around the question: What kind of person chooses to work in the field of parahuman research?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to [Mixed Feelings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6894508/chapters/15730471), taking place between chapters 3.03 and 3.04.

**_Maddy_ **

 

Maddy kept the open, yet blandly pleasant, expression on her face with the ease of long practice as she listened to one of her researchers complain.  
  
“…have got to realise that they can’t just keep shipping off their delinquent parahumans to us when they want to get them out of the way!” Dr Marsh was saying, waving one hand around like he was conducting an orchestra. “I can’t just rearrange my schedule at the drop of a hat. I have to plan my experiments carefully. I need to book time on the equipment. Order consumables. At the very least, I need more notice. Cooperative subjects would be a bonus.”  
  
Maddy let him talk, knowing that it would be easier in the long run to let him get it out of his system. He did have a point, but the situation wasn’t nearly as bad he claimed and, honestly, there wasn’t an awful lot she could do about it other than send some strongly worded messages. Some more strongly worded messages. Which she would do, of course, she just didn’t really think it would make a difference.  
  
“I understand, Benedict,” she said. “I’ll see what I can do.” She made some more soothing noises, and managed to usher the apparently mollified scientist out of her office in time for her next meeting.  
  
She still had several of those to get through, not to mention reports to review, people to call, e-mails to write, decisions to make…  
  
A director’s work was never done.  
  
And this wasn’t even one of her busy days.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“This data looks promising,” Maddy said, feeling a nostalgic sense of excitement. That feeling took her all the way back to her undergraduate degree. It took her back to the project that had convinced her that yes, she had made the right choice of major; that science was where she belonged.  
  
She’d certainly changed a lot since then. Her career had taken a rather different turn than she might have imagined, that was for sure. If someone had asked her, back then, where she saw herself at this point in her life, she would have undoubtedly told them she’d be working in a university somewhere, definitely heading her own research group, almost certainly a tenured lecturer, maybe even with ‘Professor’ in front of her name.  
  
And she couldn’t have been more wrong.  
  
Instead of spending the rest of her life in academia, she’d somehow become a civil servant.  
  
Okay, maybe that was something of a simplification. But she worked for the PRT, which was a government organisation, so the description was technically correct, if incomplete.  
  
Dr Madeline Tynes — **not** Professor, alas; honestly the one career-related regret she did have, petty though it was — was the director of the PRT’s Northeast General Testing and Research Facility.  
  
By and large, she was happy with where she’d ended up. It turned out that she was good at managing other scientists; at handling the countless delicate balancing acts involved in the running of a multidisciplinary research institute. More than that, she enjoyed the challenge of it.  
  
(Privately, she thought that herding researchers was a far trickier task than wrangling parahumans. Even though, if and when things went awry, the collateral damage in the former case tended to be somewhat less literal than in the latter.)  
  
(Tended to.)  
  
(She tried not to think about that incident with the centrifuge. Not that anyone could prove malice aforethought rather than simple incompetence, but still. The scale of the destruction had been rather impressive.)  
  
She might not directly be engaged in conducting research herself, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d actually done anything in the lab, but she got to oversee and even steer parahuman research across the whole of the facility.  
  
That was a rush in and of itself.  
  
Still, every once in a while, it was nice to be able to indulge herself like this; to feel almost like she was merely a researcher looking over data with a colleague. Going back to her roots, as it were.  
  
Even if the fantasy never lasted long.  
  
“I agree,” said Claudia, nodding sharply. “It’s something that some members of my group would like to explore further. They’ve compiled a list of specific parahumans whose abilities will be useful…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Research, of course, was only part of the facility’s purpose. It wasn’t even the reason why the place — and the others like it — had been established. That would be the other half of their work: evaluating new members of the Protectorate and the Wards.  
  
No prizes for guessing which of those roles the PRT prioritised.  
  
As Maddy kept having to remind her researchers when their schedules were disrupted by having to evaluate a newly active parahuman: ‘As per our name, Testing comes before Research.’ Which was why she and her assistant, Pamela, were currently juggling schedules and timetables, trying to find a way to keep both the PRT directors and the facility staff happy.  
  
Well, no. Not quite.  
  
It would be more accurate to say that they were trying to find a way not to irritate certain PRT directors too much while simultaneously not making too many of Maddy’s people squawk and squeal with outrage.  
  
And they had to get this done before her weekly meeting with the department heads.  
  
Maddy drained the latest of what was probably way too many cups of coffee.  
  
(She recalled fondly one of her friends from college who’d once tried to plot a chart of ‘productivity’ versus ‘cups of coffee consumed’ in order to maximise her useful revision time. It had either been Sarah or Lucy — she wasn’t entirely sure which. She should probably try to catch up with both of them sometime, though. In any case, whichever one of them it had been had been trying to figure out the optimum number of cups for maintaining alertness without counter-productive side-effects like caffeine jitters and having the attention span of a squirrel on speed. As an experiment, it… hadn’t been overly successful. As a source of hilarity to everyone watching, though? A definite triumph.)  
  
“Right,” she said, decisively. “If Pittsburgh really doesn’t mind sending up their new Protectorate member on Wednesday, rather than Tuesday, and if Magdalena is willing to move her MRI study back a week in exchange for more time on the machine, I think we can make this work. Does that look right to you?”  
  
Pamela leaned in, peering at the screen. She nodded and gave a tired, yet triumphant smile.  
  
“By Jove, I think we’ve got it.”  
  
“Excellent!” Maddy sat up straight, energised more by their success than by the slightly tepid coffee. “So. Let’s just go over this one more time to be sure. We’ve got the Brockton Bay Ward coming in on Monday…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Jane_ **

 

Jane loved to fly.  
  
She especially loved to fly the Merlin. It was just so manoeuvrable. And **fast**. Not that she was really allowed to push its limits too much when she was on chauffeur duty, but just being up in the air was something.  
  
Anyway, there was nothing stopping her having a little fun on the way to collect her passenger.  
  
And as she tore through the sky at speeds most people could never dream of reaching, one thought was uppermost in her mind.  
  
 _I have the best job in the world!_

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

 _A perfect landing,_ Jane thought with satisfaction, as the Merlin touched down on the roof of the Brockton Bay PRT building.  
  
Okay, maybe other people’s definition of ‘perfect’ didn’t include dropping out of the sky like a stone and ramping up thrust at the last possible moment that would still let her shed all the excess v. But she’d set the jump-jet down as gently as a mama’s first newborn, and that definitely counted as a win in her book.  
  
Anyway, what was life without a little challenge?  
  
(Not that her action had been as reckless as it might have seemed at first blush. She knew this bird’s specs and tolerances like the back of her hand. Better, even, since her hands were always picking up cuts and scrapes and burns from all the time she spent with them buried in the guts of some engine or mechanism. Anyway, this was a manoeuvre she’d performed countless times before. The Merlin could handle it, and so could she.)  
  
“Cutting it a little fine there, Vargas,” came the amused voice of the PRT duty officer over the comm. “I was starting to wonder if you were trying to lithobrake.”  
  
Jane laughed. “Don’t worry, Cav. I wouldn’t want to put a dent in your nice, shiny building.”  
  
“You’d better not,” he said. “Do you have any idea how much paperwork I’d have to fill out if you did?”  
  
“I thought you loved paperwork,” she said, powering down the Merlin.  
  
“I’m good at paperwork,” he said, in an overly patient tone. “That doesn’t mean I love it. Believe me, there’s a difference.”  
  
“No argument from me,” she murmured. In a somewhat more professional tone, she continued: “Do you want me to start unloading the cargo, or should I wait until your guys get here?”  
  
“Might as well wait,” he said. “There’s a trainee today, and we don’t want him to start taking your good nature for granted.”  
  
“Copy that,” she said, amused. “I guess this means I should use my responsible adult voice, huh?”  
  
“You have one of those?” he asked, doing a good job of sounding utterly shocked.  
  
“Rude,” she sniffed. “So, is there anything I need to know about today’s passenger?”  
  
She had all the important details — or, at least, all the details that Mission Control (not their actual title, but it was what she called them in her head) thought she needed to know — but she figured there was no harm in asking. You never knew what seemingly unimportant or trivial piece of information might make the difference between being able to have a pleasant conversation and spending the entire journey in tense, awkward silence.  
  
Personally, Jane would rather have the conversation.  
  
Cav was quiet for a moment. “She’s pretty formal, and a bit tightly wound.” His sigh was audible over the comms. “The kid’s been through a lot. If you ask me, she could do with some cheering up.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can do,” Jane murmured. She spotted movement on the rooftop and glanced up. “Oh, looks like your guys are here.” Or, rather, a guy and two girls, one of whom seemed a little young to be working as a PRT grunt. Plus, she was wearing a mask. “And my passenger, by the looks of it.”  
  
She opened the cargo bay and stepped out of the Merlin.  
  
“Yeah,” he said. “She’s been hanging around waiting for the past half hour or so,” he said.  
  
Jane knew she wasn’t late. If anything, she was a few minutes early. “She’s keen,” she murmured.  
  
“You have no idea,” Cav sighed.  
  
Jane would have asked him what he meant by that, but there was no way to do so discreetly at this point. Putting her curiosity aside for the moment, she went through the cargo hand-off. It was a relatively straightforward procedure, even with a trainee, so it wasn’t long before she was approaching her passenger, who’d been waiting patiently off to one side.  
  
“Morning,” Jane greeted her cheerfully. “I’m Jane Vargas, and I’ll be your chauffeur today.” She stuck out a hand, a little startled when the girl flinched a little at the movement. She recovered quickly though, shaking Jane’s hand with a surprisingly firm grip.  
  
“Good morning, Ma’am,” she said politely. “I’m Astrid.”  
  
“Ma’am?” Jane blinked, surprised and a little amused. “Do I look like an officer to you? I’ll have you know I actually work for a living.”  
  
Astrid went very still. “I didn’t mean to cause offence,” she said, sounding a little stiff. Jane thought she began to understand what Cav meant when he’d called her ‘tightly wound.’  
  
“No offence taken,” she said easily. “Call me Vargas, okay? Not Ms, or Miss, or anything like that: just Vargas.” She grinned. “And, in return, I’ll get you to Northeast in one piece.”  
  
“I’d… appreciate that,” Astrid said, looking a little nonplussed.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Jane assured her. “I haven’t actually lost anyone yet. Don’t you listen to Cav’s horror stories. He exaggerates.”  
  
“Captain Cavendish actually spoke quite highly of you.”  
  
“Oh, in that case, you can trust him in all things,” Jane said equably. She studied Astrid for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “So, I guess we’re kind of colleagues, huh?”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
Jane shrugged. “Well, I work for the PRT; you work for the PRT… Text book definition, right?”  
  
“I… suppose so,” Astrid said.  
  
Jane wasn’t sure whether or not that had actually helped, but she figured it couldn’t hurt. Anyway, she supposed she had the whole of the journey to try to get Astrid to relax a little. Sure, it wasn’t going to be that long a flight, but she did like a challenge.  
  
Besides, once they actually got in the air ‘How awesome is the Merlin?’ was bound to be a fantastic conversation opener.  
  
She checked the time. “Well, I have a couple of things to do here before we leave, and I’m afraid I’m not allowed to let you wait in the Merlin.” It could have been just her imagination, but she fancied that Astrid seemed a little disappointed by that, which made her like the girl already. “Do you want to go and grab a coffee or something and meet me back here in ten minutes?”  
  
“Alright.” She paused for a moment. “Would you like a coffee, Vargas? Or something else from the canteen?”  
  
Yes, she was definitely going to like this girl.  
  
“I would love a coffee, thank you. Black, no sugar. And a cinnamon roll, if they have them.” She’d been thinking of swinging by the canteen herself, but if Astrid was going anyway… She started digging around in her pockets. “I’m sure I’ve got some money here somewhere.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Astrid said. Jane frowned, about to say that she wasn’t about to let her pay, but Astrid was still speaking. “They don’t charge me in the canteen.” She actually gave a small smile. “I’m hoping that’ll count as further incentive to get me to my destination intact.”  
  
Jane laughed. “Smart thinking,” she said, nodding. “I can’t lie: it does improve your chances.”  
  
Maybe there was hope for the girl yet.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“All strapped in back there?” Jane called out over the internal comms. “Bag securely stowed?”  
  
“Yes and yes,” Astrid replied from the passenger compartment.  
  
“Okay,” Jane said, as she went through the pre-flight checks. “Just a couple of things before we take off. First of all, do **not** mess with the Merlin. Thinker stuff is fine — I can certainly understand wanting to take a look under the hood — but nothing active, okay? My baby’s a precision instrument.”  
  
“Yes, M- I mean, yes, I understand. I can keep my power under control, don’t worry.”  
  
“Good to know,” Jane said. The Merlin did have redundancies and failsafes built in, of course. And it was equipped with confoam dispensers, tranquillisers and various other methods of containing parahumans who couldn’t keep their powers in check. But, all things being equal, she would really prefer not to have to use the safety measures. “Second, are you afraid of heights at all? Or flying?”  
  
“Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve never flown before.”  
  
“You haven’t?” Jane felt a grin spread over her face. “Then you’re in for a treat.” Although, honestly, even if she had been in a plane before, that would hardly have prepared her for this. “We’ll be on our way shortly.”  
  
She activated the external comm, her tone businesslike as she crisply informed Cav she was ready to go. (There was no extraneous chatter at this stage, just as there hadn’t been on the approach. There was a time and a place, after all.) He gave her the green light.  
  
Now the business had been dealt with, she could get on with the fun part.  
  
“Alright, Astrid,” she said. “Prepare to be amazed.”  
  
On that note, they soared.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“This is **awesome** ,” Astrid said. Those were the first words she’d spoken since they set off. Jane glanced at the screen showing the display from the passenger compartment cameras to see that she was sitting with her face practically pressed up against the window.  
  
“Told you,” she said, with a certain amount of satisfaction. She would never understand those philistines who called the experience ‘terrifying’ and ‘we’re going to die’ and ‘oh my God, I’m going to be sick.’ Clearly, Astrid was a right-thinking individual with excellent taste and good judgement. “Worth getting up at oh dark thirty for?” she asked, pretty confident of what the answer would be.  
  
“Definitely,” Astrid said enthusiastically. “Although it’s not that early.”  
  
“I happen to agree,” Jane said. “But a lot of my passengers don’t seem to feel the same way. You a morning person?”  
  
She thought about that for a moment. Or maybe she was just distracted by the spectacular view.  
  
“I guess so,” she replied.  
  
“So, what do you do with your early mornings?” Jane asked, since it seemed to be as good an opening as any. “Personally, I like to mess around in my workshop for a bit and go for a run. When I’m not flying, that is.”  
  
“I work out and I study,” Astrid said. She sighed softly, the sound almost too quiet for the microphone to pick up. “Which I probably should be doing right now.”  
  
She sounded like she was reluctant to tear herself away from the window, which Jane understood completely.  
  
“Nonsense,” she proclaimed. “No one would expect you to concentrate on schoolwork right now.” Astrid didn’t say anything, so she added: “Anyway, I would be highly offended if I didn’t think you were paying proper attention to my fantastic piloting skills, and I tell you now that offending your pilot is not a wise move.”  
  
Astrid laughed, glancing around the passenger compartment with what almost seemed like a startled expression.  
  
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t be,” she agreed. A moment later, she asked: “Do you mind if I ask a question?”  
  
“Ask away,” Jane said. “I can’t promise I’ll know the answer — or be willing to answer, depending on what it is — but you’re welcome to ask.”  
  
“I was just wondering… Are you a tinker?”  
  
Jane laughed, unable to help herself. “God, no,” she said. “I’m an engineer. And a pilot, of course. No, I’m not a a cape at all, thank God.” Belatedly, it occurred to her that could be construed as an insult. “Ah, no offence.”  
  
“None taken,” Astrid assured her. A moment later she asked: “You’re an engineer?” She sounded cautious.  
  
“Yep, that’s me,” Jane said. “An aerospace engineer, to be precise.” She was pretty sure she could predict Astrid’s next question. Sure enough…  
  
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you…? Um, how come you’re…”  
  
“Playing taxi service?” she asked, taking pity on the poor girl.  
  
“I wouldn’t have phrased it quite like that,” Astrid muttered. “But yes, essentially.”  
  
“First of all, I love to fly. It is one of my great joys in life. So when the PRT lured me away from my planned career in the US Air Force, one of my requirements — which, honestly, I never thought they’d agree to — was a certain amount of air time. Second, the Merlin’s one of our ongoing projects, so this technically counts as a test flight. So I guess this is a one stone, three or four birds kind of situation.”  
  
“Three or four birds?”  
  
It was probably more than a little mean of Jane to find humour in Astrid’s obvious confusion. Probably. But, well, she was who she was.  
  
“Three, because there was some cargo needing secure transport, and four because I had to pick you up. Plus, my group’s largely based over at Northeast, so going for a quick jaunt isn’t actually too much trouble.”  
  
“I see,” Astrid said. A little hesitantly, she asked: “Am I allowed to ask what your group actually does, or is that classified?”  
  
 _She really is a cautious one,_ Jane mused. She supposed it was a sensible question, though.  
  
“The details are classified, but the broad strokes aren’t. Basically, we’re trying to figure out ways to reverse engineer tinker tech. My group is specifically focused on aerospace technologies, but there are other groups looking at different things.”  
  
“I thought the facility was for powers testing,” Astrid said.  
  
It was amazing how many people seemed to have that impression. Jane half-wondered if there was some deliberate misrepresentation going on. Not that it was really a secret, but… On the other hand: ‘never attribute to malice that which can be adequately explained by bureaucracy.’  
  
“And research. Powers testing and research.” She shrugged. “Both tend to need the same specialised equipment — plus parahumans, of course — so why not do both in the same place?”  
  
“That makes sense,” Astrid agreed. She seemed to have recovered her composure. “I would’ve thought tinker tech research would be handled by the Department of Defense, though.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they had their own projects,” Jane said. “And it’s a pretty safe bet there are also private companies working on it, but none of them seem to be talking to us.” Which, honestly, was a damn shame, but she doubted Astrid would be interested in one of her rants about the importance of free information exchange to technological advancement. Anyway, there was a very important question she had to ask Astrid. “So,” she said, striving to keep her tone casual. “What do you think of the Merlin?”  
  
Even though Astrid was still peering intently out of the window, most of her face not visible to the camera, it was obvious from the part Jane could see on the display that her expression just lit up.  
  
“It’s amazing,” she said, her tone thoroughly awestruck.  
  
“Good answer,” Jane murmured, Astrid’s clear enthusiasm bringing a smile to her own face. She started to ask if Astrid had any questions about it, but the girl apparently had more to say.  
  
“It’s so much more complicated than a car or a van,” she said, her voice going a little distant. “But I don’t know how much of that is due to the tinker tech, and how much is due to the fact that it’s an aircraft. There are parts of it I can’t quite bring into focus, but I think that’s just a resolution issue. I don’t want to push too hard and give myself a migraine before my power evaluation, though. Is the whole thing tinker tech, or just parts of it?”  
  
It took Jane a moment to realise there was actually a question in there among the stream of words.  
  
“Just parts,” she said, a little distracted herself as she thought about what it was Astrid was doing. “And hopefully less of those with each iteration.”  
  
Astrid didn’t reply. Jane suddenly had flashbacks to working with Geostrophic and some of the other tinkers she’d met over the years, and the way they sometimes suddenly seemed to zone out before embarking on a mad frenzy of creation. She wondered with concern if she was going to have to get Astrid’s attention before she started trying to rearrange parts of the Merlin, but almost before she finished the thought, Astrid twitched and looked around.  
  
“I’m sorry about that,” she said, sounding a little nervous. “I didn’t mean to be rude. I was just looking, and I got a little distracted by trying to figure something out.”  
  
“No need to apologise,” Jane assured her. “I take it as a compliment.” She hoped Astrid could hear the smile in her voice.  
  
“That’s good,” Astrid said, going back to looking out of the window. She sounded relieved. “The Merlin really is incredible.” She sighed. “I just wish I had more of an idea of what I was looking at.”  
  
“Your power doesn’t tell you?” Jane asked.  
  
“Some of it,” Astrid said. “What it’s made of, and more or less how it’s put together. But knowing the structure of something doesn’t necessarily tell me what it’s for, or what it does. I mean, I’m starting to figure some things out.” Without taking her gaze away from the window, she pointed with one hand. “That’s almost certainly a camera.” She pointed in a slightly different direction. “And I’m pretty sure that’s a confoam sprayer.” She was right on both counts, Jane was surprised to realise. “But that?” She pointed towards something else. “It doesn’t seem that complicated, certainly not compared to some of the other components, but I just don’t know what it does.”  
  
Jane thought for a moment. “Oxygen masks,” she said.  
  
“Oh.” Astrid was silent briefly. “That… makes sense. Thank you.”  
  
“No problem,” Jane drawled. This was interesting.  
  
Astrid sighed. “Sorry about that,” she said. “I didn’t mean to rant. It’s just that I seem to keep running up against the limits of my knowledge, and it’s a little frustrating.”  
  
“I get that,” Jane said, sympathetically. “I mean, not the power stuff, obviously. But, trust me, I know all about pushing the past the edges of what you know to find yourself in uncharted territory.” Working with tinkers would certainly do that. Hell, studying for her degree had done that. “Still, it sounds like it’s a solvable problem.”  
  
“Yes,” Astrid agreed, seeming to perk up a little. “I’ve already started working on expanding my knowledge, and every time I use my power on something new, I add another template to my library. So it will improve. But there’s so much to learn, and there’s so little time…”  
  
Now she was starting to sound distressed.  
  
 _Poor kid,_ Jane thought. Clearly, she needed something to take her mind off things for a little while. Luckily, Jane had an idea.  
  
“So, we’re not too far from our destination,” she said. “But we’re running a little ahead of schedule. Want me to see if I can get clearance to show you what the Merlin can really do?”  
  
Given Astrid’s reaction to the flight so far, Jane was expecting immediate and enthusiastic agreement. She was honestly surprised when Astrid hesitated.  
  
“I wouldn’t want to be late for my appointment,” she said cautiously. “Or to make you late.”  
  
“We won’t be,” Jane assured her. “There’s plenty of time for me to show off a little.” She considered for a moment, and then added: “I promise I’ll get you to your appointment on time.”  
  
“Then… if it’s no trouble, I’d really like that.”  
  
They were low enough that they didn’t really have to worry about commercial flights, and private flights weren’t allowed here, so it was mainly a case of making sure that none of her colleagues were currently testing any of the other birds, and there were no flying capes being assessed right now. Jane tended to keep an eye on that kind of thing, however, and she didn’t recall there being any issues.  
  
Sure enough, clearance was granted.  
  
“Right!” Jane said, a fierce excitement bubbling up inside her. “Time for some real excitement!”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The sprawling grounds of the PRT’s Northeast General Testing and Research Facility hove into view, buildings and various other structures looming rapidly larger. Jane grinned to herself, wondering if Astrid was going to yell at her to pull up. Some of them did. Some of them closed their eyes. Some — well, one — had even prayed audibly. But although Astrid perhaps gripped her seat just a little tightly, she kept her gaze fixed on the view — and the ground they were hurtling towards — and didn’t say a word.  
  
 _Good for her,_ Jane thought with approval.  
  
Just like before — just like always, really — she fired the thrusters at just the right moment, setting the Merlin down with barely even the most minuscule of bumps. Yet another perfect landing.  
  
“And, this is our stop,” she said, powering down the Merlin. “How are you doing back there?”  
  
“Fine,” Astrid said, and if her voice was maybe a little tight, Jane certainly wasn’t going to call her on it. She unbuckled her seatbelt and stood up, retrieving her bag. “Thanks, Vargas,” she said, sounding a little more natural. She even smiled. “This really was amazing.”  
  
“Glad you had fun,” Jane said, not sure why her response seemed to make Astrid close off again.  
  
“I did,” she said, but she sounded a little subdued.  
  
“Well, you’ll get to do it all over again either tonight or tomorrow morning, depending on how long your evaluation takes,” Jane said.  
  
“I suppose so,” Astrid said.  
  
Jane wondered if she was nervous about the assessment. She could understand that, she supposed. It was kind of a big deal, after all.  
  
“I’m going the same direction as you, at least at first, so I’ll take you to your escort,” she said. It wasn’t like Astrid was really going to get lost en route — she could see the guy from here, but she figured a bit of friendly company might be appreciated.  
  
“Thanks, Vargas,” Astrid said, after a moment.  
  
“No problem.”  
  
A few moments later, they were striding away from the Merlin, side by side. Jane gave Astrid a sidelong glance. Her expression was neutral, but she seemed tense to Jane’s eyes.  
  
“Want some advice?” she asked.  
  
“Sure,” Astrid said, after a moment.  
  
“Don’t sweat it,” Jane said, shrugging. “The thing you need to remember is that it’s not really a test. They just want to see what you can do, and figure out how to help you do it better. This is for your benefit as much as theirs. Just do your best, and you’ll be fine.”  
  
She might not be involved with the actual powers testing, but she knew enough people who were — and she’d ferried enough capes to and from their own assessment — to have at least a vague idea of what went on there.  
  
Astrid gave Jane a searching look. “It’s really that simple?”  
  
“Far as I can tell.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
The guy waiting stepped forward as they approached. He looked vaguely familiar, but so did a lot of people, and she didn’t know his name. He was kinda cute, if a little young for her. Probably an intern, which almost certainly explained why he’d been given the task of playing escort. Idly, she wondered if he usually dressed like he’d stepped out of a designer clothing catalogue, or if he was just trying to make a good impression.  
  
“Good morning,” he said, directing the greeting — and his smile — at both of them before focusing his attention on Astrid. “You must be Astrid. My name is Vincent Pirovano. I’ve been assigned to you for the duration of your stay here. It’s my job to take you to your appointments, answer any questions you might have, and get you anything you need.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Vincent,” Astrid said quietly, nodding at him.  
  
“You too,” he said, his smile broadening. “If it helps, you can think of me as your personal assistant for the duration.”  
  
Jane was amused to notice Astrid’s cheeks flush a little.  
  
“Well, it’s time I got going,” Jane said. “I’ll see you for the return trip, Astrid. You can tell me how it went.”  
  
Astrid gave her a small smile. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Vargas.”  
  
“Anytime.”  
  
As soon as she was out of earshot, Jane pulled out her phone and made a call. “Hey, Bailey,” she said. “You’re heading up the powers evaluation today, right? Well, there’s something you might want to test…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

Kimberly straightened her tape recorder and notebook a little, lining them both up with the edge of the desk. Next, she double-checked that her pens — both the main one and her back up — had ink. Of course they did, but she already knew that. Just as she’d already known that the recorder had a fresh tape in it before she looked inside. Still, she found comfort in checking these things; a small ritual that helped her to get into the right frame of mind for this interview.  
  
(She much preferred using fountain pens to any other kind, despite the ribbing some of her colleagues gave her about it. Well, one colleague in particular, but she knew that Andrew didn’t really mean anything by it. Anyway, it wasn’t like he didn’t have his own quirks. Then again: didn’t they all? Maybe there was just something about the field of parahuman psychology that attracted… eccentrics. No, that was unprofessional of her. And almost certainly unfair. After all, everyone was eccentric by some standard or other, no matter what field they were in.)  
  
(Just… maybe some people were more eccentric than others.)  
  
As if on cue, there was a knock on the door.  
  
“Come in,” Kimberly called out, schooling her expression into a polite yet pleasant smile. The door opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered, blonde-haired girl dressed in one of the PRT standard testing costumes and domino masks. Vincent, one of the interns, stood behind her.  
  
The girl turned to him and nodded. “Thank you,” she said, quietly. Vincent nodded back and closed the door behind her as she strode into the room. She came to a halt a couple of paces from the desk, her back ramrod straight and her arms by her sides as she met Kimberly’s gaze.  
  
“Good morning, Ma’am,” she said, crisply. “I was ordered to report here for psychological assessment.”  
  
Even more than usual, if Kimberly didn’t know better, she would’ve thought the girl was one of the PRT soldiers, rather than a teenage parahuman. It wasn’t just the standard costume, which very much resembled army fatigues dyed a blandly institutional grey colour. It was the girl’s whole demeanour.  
  
(The costume’s resemblance to army fatigues wasn’t a coincidence given that, if Kimberly remembered correctly, the PRT did, in fact, purchase surplus fatigues in bulk and bleach and/or re-dye them as necessary.)  
  
She knew the girl’s name, of course. Her first name, at least. Well, the name she’d given, which was not necessarily the same thing at all. In point of fact, Kimberly had been given access to a more or less complete version of the girl’s whole file. ‘More or less’ meaning it had only been stripped of any identifying information save her first name and her age. But for this part of the interview — the all important first impression — Kimberly preferred not to think of names or history, but only in terms of her initial observations.  
  
(Other psychologists — even other members of the team based here, at the PRT’s Northeast General Testing and Research Facility — had other approaches, she knew, but this method worked for her.)  
  
“Please, take a seat,” Kimberly said, gesturing to the chair before her desk.  
  
She hoped that the sensors on both had been set up properly. Not like that incident with Oscar a week and a half ago. Someone had screwed up the placement of the water vapour sensors so that the apertures had been partially or completely covered. By the time anyone had realised, it was already too late, so they had no data on whether or not he had used his parahuman abilities at any point during the psychological evaluation. They’d muddled through with the rest of the tests anyway, and gained plenty of useful data from those, but it was… irksome. One of the main points of this exercise, after all, was to determine under what circumstances a parahuman would activate their powers without conscious control, and to what degree.  
  
(Not the whole point, to be sure. Some of the information provided by this interview would greatly help in tailoring the activities used to explore the range of a parahuman’s abilities and to assess that parahuman’s suitability for field work. And there was a great deal of other useful data to be gathered here. Kimberly herself was interested in possible correlations between psychological profile and specific power manifestation in parahumans. Other members of the team had their own particular research foci. But all data was valuable, one way or the other.)  
  
(There was also the general report they’d be passing on to the PRT counselling psychologists, of course, but one of them would perform their own assessment of the girl. Their aims, however, were somewhat different.)  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” the girl said. She sat carefully, almost as if she was injured. Or as if she had been, until recently. Certainly, there was no visible bruising or other signs of injury. (Kimberly tried not to think about what she recalled of the girl’s medical report, but that was easier said than done. There was no point getting hung up on the details, however, so she merely made a mental note of her bias and moved on.) Her back remained straight as a die — no slumping, sprawling or otherwise trying to make herself comfortable — and she maintained eye contact.  
  
“My name is Dr Kimberly Ross,” Kimberly said, once the girl had seated herself. “You may address me as Kimberly, or Dr Ross, or Ma’am, as you prefer.” She let her smile widen a little, allowing warmth into her eyes and her voice as she continued. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” the girl replied quietly. She sounded a little relieved, although her expression remained more or less neutral. _Reduced affect, or merely self-possession?_ Kimberly mused. She tried not to speculate. (She was relieved that the girl was wearing a domino mask and not one of the full or even half face masks. It meant that she could still see her expression. What there was of it.)  
  
“What should I call you?” she asked.  
  
“Astrid is fine, Ma’am.”  
  
The formality of address was consistent with the observations that Director Piggot had recorded in Astrid’s file, Kimberly noted, now that she was allowing herself to make such connections.  
  
“Thank you, Astrid,” she said crisply. “Now, before we begin, I understand that it’s been explained to you that the session — and all the subsequent tests — will be recorded. Is that correct?”  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid said.  
  
“And can you please confirm that you’re still happy with that?” It was a leading question, of course, but that was kind of the point.  
  
Astrid hesitated briefly, and then nodded. “Yes, Ma’am,” she murmured.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Kimberly reached over and turned on the tape recorder with an audible click, making a quiet note of the date and time, and of Astrid’s name. The tape recorder was a prop, of course. Oh, it worked. And Kimberly did find the audio recording useful afterwards. But the whole room was wired for sound and vision, and had been recording from the moment Astrid had knocked on the door. Additionally. Kimberly’s colleague Andrew — Dr Pratt — was watching and listening from the observation room, which was also set up to receive the feeds from the various sensors currently monitoring Astrid’s vital signs and brain waves, as well as the tremor sensors on the chair, desk and the room itself.  
  
(The technical people figured that the tremor sensors were the best way of detecting if Astrid used her power on the surroundings. Assuming it worked the way they theorised, of course. But, if not, they would have the chance to revise their assumptions based on the data they collected.)  
  
Kimberly picked up her pen and turned her notepad around slightly until it was at the perfect writing angle.  
  
“Are you alright with me making written notes as well?” she asked. Another leading question.  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid replied.  
  
Kimberly would honestly have been surprised if she’d said anything else. Nevertheless, she smiled as if pleased.  
  
“Thank you,” she said warmly. Leaning forward a little, she lowered her voice just a touch, her whole posture confiding. “I know it’s a little redundant, but I find it helps me to keep my thoughts in order.”  
  
“I can understand that, Ma’am,” she said. She didn’t quite smile, but her expression softened a little from its studied blankness. It was a good start, Kimberly thought. She jotted down a couple of notes, more for the look of the thing than because she really needed to, and sat back in her seat.  
  
“Before we get started, would you like a drink, or to use the bathroom, or anything?”  
  
“No, thank you, Ma’am. I’m fine.”  
  
“Alright, then. Have you ever undergone a psychological assessment before, Astrid?”  
  
“No, Ma’am.”  
  
“Pulse spike there,” came Andrew’s voice through the discreet earbud in Kimberly’s right ear. Not that Kimberly really needed the heads up. Astrid’s expression went back to blankness, her tone flat, her posture tense. Signs of anxiety from someone used to controlling her reactions under certain circumstances, such as being in the presence of an authority figure. “Nothing on the tremor sensors, though.”  
  
That, however, was useful to know. If Astrid was using her power, it was likely only the thinker aspect.  
  
“Well, it’s quite straightforward,” Kimberly said, her tone reassuring, yet professional. From what she’d read in Astrid’s file, maintaining a little distance might actually be for the best when it came to building a rapport. “I’m just going to ask you some questions, that’s all. Despite the name, this isn’t actually a test. We’re just going to work out the best way to help you to figure out the details of your parahuman abilities. Alright?”  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid said, after a brief hesitation. She didn’t seem overly reassured, but that wasn’t entirely a surprise. Still, they had time yet, and Kimberly judged that it was worth spending a little of that to put the girl a little more at her ease.  
  
“Let’s start with something simple,” she said. “How did you find the flight over?”  
  
Astrid actually smiled back, just a little. “I liked it, Ma’am,” she said quietly. A beat later, she added: “I’ve never flown before, so it was quite the experience.”  
  
“No problem with heights, then?”  
  
“No, Ma’am. Not that I’m aware of.”  
  
Kimberly made a note. “Good to know.” They’d still test that, of course, but it was helpful to have an idea of a subject’s likely stressors ahead of time. “What did you think of the Merlin?”  
  
“It’s beautiful, Ma’am.” Now she actually sounded enthusiastic, although her expression didn’t change all that much.  
  
“Do you have an interest in planes?” Kimberly asked, making another note.  
  
“Not specifically, Ma’am.” And… back to caution again. Understandable, given her background.  
  
“Tinker tech, then? Or just vehicles?”  
  
Astrid hesitated for a moment. “I’ve… always liked messing around with cars, Ma’am. I’ve never really had the chance to look at any other types of vehicles, though. And tinker tech is completely new to me.”  
  
“Another pulse spike,” came Andrew’s voice in Kimberly’s ear. “Still nothing on the tremor sensors, but stress-markers are definitely high.”  
  
Kimberly jotted down a reminder to come back to this subject later. It was definitely worth trying to pin down the reasons for Astrid’s apparent agitation, but she judged that this was not the best time to push.  
  
“We’re fortunate to have access to the work of a number of different tinkers here,” Kimberly said. She gave a rueful smile. “We sometimes run into issues with maintenance, but tinkers’ services tend to be in great demand. Plus, of course, they have their own projects to work on.”  
  
“I can imagine, Ma’am,” Astrid said; pretty much the first thing she had said that wasn’t in response to a direct question. Kimberly remained quiet, waiting to see if Astrid would say anything else, but that was apparently it.  
  
“How are you finding the sensors?” Kimberly asked. “Not too uncomfortable, I hope.”  
  
“They’re fine, Ma’am,” Astrid replied.  
  
Kimberly made a note of the fact that she didn’t fidget, or pick at the sensors, or even look at them. She maintained both eye contact and her rigid posture.  
  
“That’s good,” Kimberly said. “On rare occasions, people have had allergic reactions to the adhesive, so make sure you let us know if you notice any irritation.”  
  
“I will, Ma’am,” Astrid said. After a moment, she spoke again, sounding a little hesitant. “May I ask a question?”  
  
Given the information in her file — particularly the observations of Mr Reid, Ms Grant and Director Piggot — Kimberly wasn’t entirely surprised at the caution. She made sure that her own tone was reassuring as she answered:  
  
“Of course, Astrid. You are always welcome to ask questions. Not just of me, but of the other people at the facility.”  
  
“I’ll give everyone else a heads up to that effect,” came Andrew’s voice in her ear. “Especially Medical,” he added, with a note of sly amusement.  
  
Kimberly kept her expression under control, despite wanting to roll her eyes at Andrew’s commentary. It was no secret that he and Dr Mackenzie didn’t get on. Not at all. He didn’t agree with her methods, he didn’t like the way she ran her team; he most definitely didn’t like the woman herself. The dislike seemed to be mutual, although for Dr Mackenzie it seemed to take the form of barely even acknowledging Andrew’s existence unless she had to.  
  
Perhaps Andrew did have have a point in this case, though. Dr Mackenzie tended to frown on her ’subjects’ asking questions. Or, in fact, speaking at all unless it was to provide information that she or her team requested. Kimberly hadn’t been planning on asking her to change her approach — at least not unless Astrid showed signs of being particularly unstable during this interview — but… Perhaps it might be worth giving the good doctor a gentle reminder that she was dealing with a potentially volatile teenage parahuman to whom apparent disapproval from an authority figure was likely to be a potent stressor.  
  
That was one of the responses they planned to test, of course, but they had a specific set up for that, with a procedure they’d tested and refined over the years.  
  
Kimberly made a mental note to contact Dr Mackenzie herself when she was finished here. Just in case.  
  
“Is there anything you can tell me about the tests I’ll be undergoing today, Ma’am? I haven’t been given a schedule, and Vincent didn’t seem to know any details.”  
  
“And there’s that anxiety spike again,” Andrew said. “Still no sign of active power use, though.”  
  
Kimberly took a moment to compose her answer.  
  
“I’m afraid that testing of parahuman abilities is a little more art than science, so it can be difficult to put together a fixed schedule ahead of time. Some of the tests may end up having to be refined or even scrapped altogether, depending on what we discover.”  
  
“I… see, Ma’am.” Astrid didn’t sound especially happy with that answer.  
  
“Do you generally prefer to have a set schedule?”  
  
“Yes, Ma’am. I do.” Despite her brief hesitation before speaking, she seemed quite firm about that. That was definitely a subject Kimberly planned on returning to. Or, at least, mentioning in her report to the counselling psychologists.  
  
“We do have a general outline for the day, of course.” Astrid perked up noticeably at that news, which didn’t surprise her. “First of all, when we’re finished here, Vincent will take you over to medical for a physical assessment…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Claudia_ **

 

“Dr Mackenzie?”  
  
“Yes, Sita?” Claudia looked up from her computer to give the newest member of her team an enquiring look. “Is the subject ready?”  
  
“Yes,” Sita replied. She frowned a little, and Claudia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Sita had previously expressed her disapproval regarding Claudia’s choice of terminology regarding the parahumans they studied, and that hadn’t shown any sign of abating in the short time she’d been here. Still, she was young. And she was still relatively new to her position. She would learn. Or she wouldn’t, and she’d end up burning out. One or the other. (Personally, Claudia was hoping for the former, but she’d been doing this long enough not to dismiss the second possibility out of hand.) “She’s waiting in cubicle one.”  
  
“Thank you,” Claudia said. “We’ll begin in approximately fifteen minutes.” There were a couple of e-mails she needed to send, and she wanted to finish reviewing the subject’s medical file before commencing the examination. Not that she hadn’t already gone over it forwards and backwards, metaphorically speaking, but she liked it to be fresh in her mind when she conducted her examination.  
  
Sita nodded, but didn’t leave right away. Instead, she stepped into Claudia’s office.  
  
“You should be aware, Dr Mackenzie, that the file is a little out of date.”  
  
“Oh?” Claudia raised her eyebrows, interested. “In what respect?” She tried to keep the instinctive flare of irritation at bay — at least until she had a specific target for her irritation. If there was one thing she disliked, it was having to work with inaccurate or inadequate information.  
  
“Astrid is no longer injured.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
That was interesting. Some manner of regeneration, perhaps? Or someone had healed her. This subject was from… Ah, Brockton Bay. Likely Panacea then, if the second option.  
  
(The main reason Claudia remembered the biokinetic girl’s name was because she kept turning down requests for her participation in various research projects. Which was a pity, but wasn’t the end of the world. Others, such as that Brockton Bay self-biokinetic, were much more receptive to such requests. Claudia felt a distant sort of approval of that kind of willingness to facilitate valuable research into parahuman biology. Certainly, with members of the Wards or the Protectorate, it was possible to offer… inducements… to encourage their participation, but she much preferred not having to do so.)  
  
(If only more potential subjects could be so accommodating.)  
  
In any case, Claudia was relieved to hear that this subject was back in optimal physical condition. It meant they’d actually be able to perform the full range of tests after all. Luckily, they wouldn’t have to adjust the set up. They might need a little more time than they’d allotted, but that shouldn’t be a problem. The schedule tended to have a certain amount of wiggle room built into it. The one constant regarding parahumans, after all, seemed to be their unpredictability.  
  
“Um…” Sita shifted a little, looking uncomfortable.  
  
Claudia sighed internally. Sita had excellent qualifications, and her work so far demonstrated that she had real potential as a researcher — both reasons why Claudia had recruited her in the first place. But the young woman really needed to learn to keep her nervousness and doubts on the inside, and to project an air of confidence at all times.  
  
(It wasn’t such an issue here and now, but when dealing with their subjects — or, worse, with competing researchers, especially ones like that buffoon Archie Modell, over at the northwest facility — it was vitally important not to seem timid or uncertain. Show the slightest weakness, and you’d never be taken seriously as a doctor or as a scientist. No one awarded grants to researchers who lacked confidence.)  
  
She made a mental note to ask Dr Ross if she could perhaps have someone in her team work with Sita to improve her self-confidence. Or at least the appearance of it.  
  
“What is it?” she asked, trying not to sound impatient.  
  
“I’m afraid I didn’t ask her how it had happened,” Sita asked. “I thought about it, but I wasn’t sure you’d want her to know I’d seen her file, so…” She trailed off into silence, looking almost like she expected Claudia to bite her head off.  
  
Claudia idly wondered if some of her team had been telling tales out of school. She liked to think of her managerial style as ‘firm, but fair,’ but she knew that she had very little tolerance for incompetence or unprofessionalism. On occasion — rare occasions, thankfully, since positions at this facility were extremely sought after, generally allowing them the luxury of choosing only the best and brightest to fill their ranks — she did have to issue a sternly-worded reprimand. Apparently those on the receiving end tended to find them… memorable. She didn’t think Sita had been around for any of those, but perhaps someone had warned her. With a certain amount of ‘humorous’ exaggeration, no doubt.  
  
Or perhaps Sita had merely learned her caution from her previous place of employment.  
  
In any event, it was something that would have to be addressed. What good were researchers who wouldn’t speak their minds?  
  
“That’s fine, Sita.” She made an effort to soften her tone a little from its usual briskness, judging that the other woman needed the reassurance right now. “Your instincts were good. I’ll find out soon enough, anyway. Thank you for the heads up.” She gave Sita a moment to process that — long enough for the relief to show in her eyes — and then continued. “Can you please let the rest of the team know we’ll be running the full battery of tests after all? Thank you.”  
  
“I’ll do that, Dr Mackenzie.” With that, Sita hurried away.  
  
Claudia returned her attention to the subject’s file. It might be out of date, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t useful.  
  
Anyway, Dr Ross had asked her to keep the subject waiting a little while — between ten and twenty minutes, to be precise — and Claudia was nothing if not cooperative with the psychologists. Even if Dr Pratt had been more than a little high-handed with his admonishment to not ‘bite the girl’s head off if she opens her mouth.’ As if she would! Still, Dr Ross had been far more civil, and Claudia appreciated the information she’d provided.  
  
Actually, thinking on that, Claudia had an idea for another test that might prove useful. She checked the time — still plenty left — and started typing up a list of the solutions they would need.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Good morning,” Claudia said, stepping through the curtains enclosing the cubicle. “I’m Dr Mackenzie, and I’ll be overseeing your medical exam and physical assessment. I believe you’ve already met Dr Chaudhry.” She held the curtain aside for Sita to enter, closing it again behind the pair of them.  
  
The subject was sitting on the examination table, presumably where Sita had left her. She was wearing one of  the standard medical gowns. Plus a mask, of course. Claudia honestly didn’t see the point of the latter. Anyone revealing identifying information pertaining to any of the parahumans that passed through here would be subject to severe penalties; probably even imprisoned. Still, she supposed it helped the subjects feel more at ease. Not that this particular one seemed to be especially comfortable, judging by the way she practically shot to her feet.  
  
“Good morning, Ma’am,” she said. She nodded at Sita. “Hello again, Dr Chaudhry.”  
  
“Please call me Dr Mackenzie,” Claudia said. And perhaps her tone was a little sharper than she’d intended, because the subject tensed noticeably. Keeping in a sigh, she made herself give a small, brief smile. (She really did not have the time or the temperament to coddle anxious teenage parahumans. All she wanted to do was gather the data she needed for her research while fulfilling her obligations to the PRT.) “I didn’t spend all that time getting a medical doctorate and a PhD not to use my title.”  
  
“I’m sorry, Dr Mackenzie,” the subject said.  
  
At least her tone was level, rather than tremulous. Claudia did not have the patience to deal with a nervous Nellie. She understood that many of the subjects tended to be under a great deal of stress, and she wasn’t unsympathetic to that — or to them — but surely no one could blame her for hoping to get one who just did what they were told without making a fuss.  
  
“No harm done,” Claudia said. “Now, Dr Chaudhry and I are going to examine you and ask some questions about your medical history. Before we get started, though, are there any issues we should know about? Any areas or tests we should avoid? Any problems with needles?”  
  
Not a comprehensive list, to be sure, but if she had to go through every possible little thing that could cause a parahuman to react violently or uncontrollably, they’d be here all day. Dr Ross was viewing the examination remotely, and Dr Pratt was watching the data stream from the sensors, but if something went catastrophically awry, they may not be able to warn her or activate the containment measures in time. Better to try to account for potential sources of stress ahead of time.  
  
“No, there’s…” the subject started to say, but then she stopped. Her expression remained composed, but her hands twitched briefly, and Claudia didn’t need to see an ECG readout to surmise that she was feeling anxious right now. “I don’t react well to people touching my throat,” she said quietly, instead of whatever it was that she’d been going to say.  
  
For a parahuman, not reacting well could mean anything from freezing, to violence, to lashing out uncontrollably with their powers. Claudia wondered which end of the scale this subject’s reactions tended towards.  
  
“Would you prefer I skipped the throat examination altogether?” she asked, her tone deliberately neutral and impersonal.  
  
The subject thought for a moment before answering. “No, Dr Mackenzie. It should be fine. But it would probably be better if you gave me some warning beforehand.” Her words were matter-of-fact, but she was blushing noticeably, possibly with discomfort or embarrassment.  
  
“I will,” Claudia said, nodding. She didn’t bother to inform the subject that she explained what she was doing at every stage of the examination as a matter of course. Although part of her resented the necessity, it made sense when dealing with potentially traumatised individuals who might react badly to all manner of stimuli. Especially when said individuals had unusual and potentially lethal abilities. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. “Now,” she said briskly. “Please remove your gown and sit on the examination table.”  
  
Wonder of wonders, the subject did so without argument. Some of them kicked up the most dreadful palaver about disrobing, so Claudia was pleased that this one wasn’t so inclined. Nor did she object when Claudia commenced her examination, moving obediently as directed. (It always surprised Claudia how many subjects would insist they were fine with the idea of a medical examination, only to balk when it finally came down to it.)  
  
“First, I’m going to check for any visible abnormalities of the skin or musculoskeletal system,” she told the subject. To Sita, she said: “Are you ready, Dr Chaudhry?”  
  
Sita retrieved the clipboard with the medical history questionnaire and pulled out a pen. “Yes, Dr Mackenzie.”  
  
Claudia nodded at her, and then returned her attention to her examination of the subject.  
  
“Are you currently taking any medication?” she asked.  
  
“No, Dr Mackenzie.”  
  
“Have you ever had a prolonged illness or been hospitalised for any reason at all?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Claudia went through the medical history questions more or less on autopilot as she continued with the physical examination — occasionally pausing to inform the subject what she was doing now — trusting that Sita would record the subject’s answers correctly. She supposed she could have had one of the nurses assist her with this, but she preferred that her research staff gain as much experience as possible working with the subjects. Some people did have issues being around parahumans, even — irritatingly — those who had chosen to work in the field of parahuman research. So Claudia preferred to head any possibility of such problems off at the pass by letting familiarity breed, well, not contempt, but the detachment necessary for them to do their jobs.  
  
By and large, it was a technique that proved successful. There were occasional exceptions, of course, but then: weren’t there always?  
  
It was obvious right away that Sita was correct — the subject was no longer injured. At least not to anywhere near the extent recorded in her file. There was some minor bruising of her torso and back, but nothing especially serious. Additionally, the subject had no obvious mutations or physical abnormalities, and did not have the mark carried by the so-called ‘case 53s.’ Not that she had really expected the latter, but it never hurt to verify. Of course, the lack of any visible changes didn’t rule out any internal or physiological ones, but that was what the other tests were for.  
  
Claudia raised her eyebrows a little as the subject described her physical training regimen in response to the questions regarding exercise. She supposed it shouldn’t really be a surprise that the subject trained hard, given her defined musculature. Still, it made Claudia feel exhausted just hearing about it.  
  
(Which reminded her — she really had been meaning to make more use of the on-site gym. Perhaps she would go when she was done for the day…)  
  
Eyes and ears were unremarkable, and neurological responses were within normal limits. Of course, the subject would be undergoing more detailed sensory and neurological testing as part of the next phases of the physical assessment. This part was just to construct an overview of the subject’s general physical condition, and to check whether she exhibited any obvious physical alterations.  
  
(Not for the first time, Claudia mourned the lack of a pre-trigger baseline for comparison. Still, it couldn’t be helped. And there was no use fretting about matters beyond her control.)  
  
“I’m going to examine your throat now,” Claudia informed the subject. “Is that alright?”  
  
She tensed noticeably, but nodded.  
  
“Yes, Dr Mackenzie,” she said, her expression blank and her tone utterly devoid of emotion.  
  
“Better not make any sudden movements, Claudia,” came Dr Pratt’s voice in her earbud. “Her stress level is through the roof right now.”  
  
If she hadn’t been used to hearing that odious man’s voice in her ear — Pratt by name, prat by nature — then she might have frowned instinctively. If she’d been alone, she would certainly have made some cutting remark about his over-familiarity, or an acid-sharp observation to the effect that this wasn’t her first rodeo. As it was, though, she kept her features composed and didn’t say a word as she checked the subject’s throat.  
  
“Glands appear normal,” she said to Sita. “No swelling or other abnormalities.”  
  
When she didn’t hear the sound of Sita noting that down, she glanced over at the other woman to see her staring at the subject with what looked like fascination. Claudia followed the direction of her gaze to see metal creeping over the subject’s skin. The source seemed to be the frame of the examination table, which was starting to list noticeably. Claudia supposed it was a good job the subject was standing, rather than being seated on the table.  
  
“Sita, Dr Mackenzie: don’t comment on Astrid’s power use for the moment,” came Dr Ross’ quiet voice over the earbud. “Dr Mackenzie, I suggest that you continue the examination as normal for now, but I trust your judgement regarding how to proceed. Either way, we’ll warn you if it looks like the situation is escalating.”  
  
 _It’s nice to know that at least one person over in psychology trusts my judgement,_ Claudia couldn’t help thinking.  
  
Sita shook off her apparent daze and made some notes on the observation record, although her gaze kept straying to where the metal was continuing to wrap itself around the subject.  
  
“Is there any tenderness when I press here?” Claudia asked the subject, gently applying pressure to her lymph nodes.  
  
“No, Ma’am,” she almost whispered. Claudia judged that this would not be a good time to remind the subject to call her Dr Mackenzie. Her eyes were wide, her skin chalk-white and she was breathing rapidly. Claudia strongly suspected Dr Ross was making notes for her report to the relevant counselling team.  
  
Claudia moved her hands away, and the subject seemed to relax a little, only to tense again when Claudia retrieved a tongue depressor and buccal swab from the tray of instruments. (The plan had been for Sita to perform the buccal swab when she took the other samples, but Claudia judged it best to get it out of the way as quickly as possible so they could then leave the subject’s mouth and throat alone, hopefully giving her the chance to recover her equilibrium.)  
  
“Now I’m going to check the inside of your mouth,” she said. “Is that alright?”  
  
The subject nodded mutely, obediently opening her mouth and saying ‘ahh’ when directed. Claudia started to feel a little concerned when the metal reached the subject’s forearms, part of it flowing forward to coat her hards and part extending into slim cables. She threw the tongue depressor into the waste bin and unscrewed the labelled cap of the buccal swab. Working as swiftly as she could, she swabbed the inside of the subject’s cheek and replaced the cap, stepping back and putting it in the sample rack.  
  
“All done,” Claudia said.  
  
The subject took a sudden, deep breath; almost a gasp. She glanced down at her hands and flinched.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she almost squeaked. “I didn’t mean to… I’ll fix the table.” Before Claudia could say anything, the subject made the metal flow back into the frame of the examination table, which straightened before her eyes. A few moments later, there was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened. The subject stood up straight and met Dr Mackenzie’s gaze. Her eyes were a little wide, still, and she was noticeably pale and tense, but her voice was level again when she said: “I’m so sorry, Dr Mackenzie. That shouldn’t have happened.”  
  
“No harm done,” Claudia said, after a moment.  
  
“Sita: please ask Astrid if she was aware that she was using her power,” came Dr Ross’ voice in her ear.  
  
Sita started a little, and then relayed the question. To her credit, she managed to make it sound natural; that it was merely a thought that had occurred to her, rather than something she’d been prompted to ask.  
  
“Not really, Dr Chaudhry,” the subject said. Her tone was level again, her expression composed. Claudia approved of the way she pulled herself together after what had clearly been a highly stressful experience. “I’m afraid I was a little distracted.”  
  
“Does that happen often?” Sita asked, without any prompting this time. She sounded sympathetic. Nevertheless, the subject seemed to grow even more tense.  
  
“Occasionally. Not often,” she said quietly. She focused on Claudia once more. “I’ll try not to let it happen again, Dr Mackenzie.”  
  
Before Claudia could reply, Dr Ross’ voice was in her ear again.  
  
“Dr Mackenzie, can you please reassure Astrid that she’s not in trouble and that she isn’t going to be punished for what just happened?”  
  
Claudia didn’t think the subject seemed to need all that much in the way of reassurance, but she would defer to Dr Ross’ expertise. Besides, maybe the sensor readouts contradicted the subject’s apparent composure.  
  
“I’m sure you will,” Claudia said, her tone reassuring. She made an effort to smile at the subject. “These things happen with new parahumans. This certainly wasn’t the worst slip I’ve ever seen, and at least you were able to fix the examination table.” She considered her next words carefully, assuming that Dr Ross had specific reasons for asking her to express that particular sentiment. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Astrid.” She didn’t like using the subject’s name, but she judged that it could only help under these circumstances. Before she could continue, though, the subject interrupted her.  
  
“I lost control of my power,” she said flatly.  
  
“As I said: that isn’t unusual at this stage. It was an accident, that’s all, and accidents happen. But no one was hurt, and there was no damage that couldn’t be fixed.” She couldn’t help wishing that Dr Ross had asked Sita to do this part. Reassuring people — especially potentially skittish adolescents — really wasn’t one of her strengths. But she assumed that Dr Ross had her reasons for tasking her with this. In any event, working in a place like this facility did often require a certain flexibility and a willingness to step outside one’s comfort zone. _Needs must, after all…_ Whatever else might be said of her — and she knew there were those who said a great deal — she wasn’t afraid of rising to a challenge. “You’re not in any trouble, and you’re certainly not going to be punished.”  
  
That definitely got a reaction from the subject. She twitched a little — not quite a flinch, but not far off — and then scrutinised Claudia minutely, almost as if she was the subject here. Whatever she saw there apparently helped to reassure her, however, because she seemed to relax a little from what Claudia now realised had been a rather rigid stance. She nodded.  
  
“Thank you, Dr Mackenzie,” she said quietly.  
  
Claudia’s earbud remained silent, so she presumed that they were finally past this particular crisis.  
  
“This part of the examination is complete,” she said, returning to her usual professional demeanour with a certain amount of relief. “You may put your gown back on. Please sit upright on the examination table when you’re done.” The subject nodded and complied, seeming a little relieved herself. When she was dressed again — insomuch as anyone in one of those gowns could truly be called ‘dressed’ — and seated, Claudia continued. “I have a few more medical history questions, and then Dr Chaudhry will take some measurements and samples. Is that alright?”  
  
“Yes, Dr Mackenzie,” the subject replied.  
  
The last set of questions were to do with the subject’s family medical history. Claudia made sure she didn’t show any of the irritation she felt when the subject answered question after question with:  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Still, that wasn’t precisely unusual. Claudia made sure her children had all the relevant information she’d managed to compile regarding the medical histories of her family and her husband’s family, but she was aware that not every parent was so diligent. It was vexing, but not a major inconvenience.  
  
In a fairly short time, they were down to the very last question.  
  
“And is there anything else you can think of that may be relevant?” she finished off.  
  
The subject hesitated noticeably. “No, I don’t think so.” Her tone was level, but Claudia had a feeling…  
  
“Are you sure?” Claudia pressed, fixing the subject with a stern gaze. “Even the smallest detail might prove useful. If there’s something you’re not telling me, I suggest you reconsider.”  
  
It was only when the words were out of her mouth that she wondered if perhaps she should have softened her tone and expression a little. A covert glance towards the examination table, however, revealed no movement of the metal.  
  
“There’s nothing, Dr Mackenzie.” The subject’s expression was so wooden she might as well have been a mannequin, and her voice was just as expressionless. Nevertheless, Claudia was reasonably sure the subject was lying. _How frustrating,_ she thought to herself. But if the subject was unwilling to answer the question, she couldn’t very well make her. Chances were, it wasn’t anything of great import, but if it was…  
  
Claudia made a mental note to ask Dr Ross if she could ask the subject what she was holding back. She glanced over at Sita. “You can begin, Dr Chaudry.”  
  
Sita nodded and got to work. As she measured the subject’s height and weight, temperature, blood pressure, resting heart rate and peak flow, Claudia picked up the clipboard and made some notes from her examination.  
  
“Have your previous injuries healed on their own, or did they have assistance?” she asked.  
  
“Panacea healed me,” the subject said.  
  
Claudia hoped — with no small amount of irritation — that the biokinetic hadn’t done anything that would throw off the results of their tests.  
  
“When was this? Also, do you know specifically what she did?” she asked. It was unlikely the subject would know the details, but any information would help.  
  
“It was Saturday afternoon. She healed both new and old damage.” There was a brief hesitation, and then the subject continued. “I don’t know the specifics of everything she fixed, but I can confirm that all my visible scars are gone. Additionally, she made what she called some temporary tweaks to counter the effects of tiredness for the remainder of the day, and to facilitate a good night’s sleep. A side-effect of the healing was a noticeably increased appetite that persisted until part way through the next day.”  
  
That was something, at least. It didn’t sound like there was anything that should affect the outcome of the tests, although she would attempt to contact Panacea afterwards to request more detailed information. Not that she really expected a reply, but it didn’t hurt to try.  
  
“And the new bruising?” Claudia asked.  
  
“Sparring with a team-mate, Dr Mackenzie,” the subject replied crisply. Claudia marked the locations and grade on the outline diagram in her notes.  
  
Sita took hair and blood samples, standing the vials in the rack with the cheek swab. (It was good that the subject appeared to have no phobia of needles. Or of blood.)  
  
“All done,” she said cheerfully, addressing herself more to the subject than to Claudia. Claudia replied nonetheless.  
  
“Thank you, Dr Chaudhry.” To the subject, she said: “Dr Chaudhry will take you to the MRI suite for a scan, and then we’ll move on to the physical tests. Those will be administered by other members of my team, although I will be present to oversee them. I will see you both in about two hours.”  
  
Before she could leave, though, the subject spoke:  
  
“May I ask a question, Dr Mackenzie?”  
  
Claudia came very close to saying that she didn’t have the time, but mindful of Dr Ross’ words earlier — she dismissed Dr Pratt’s airy proclamation out of hand — and of the subject’s possibly still-agitated state, she raised her eyebrows curiously.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“Is the purpose of these tests to check for power-related physical changes?”  
  
“It is,” Claudia confirmed.  
  
“Are those common outside of brutes and case 53s?” the subject asked.  
  
“It varies,” she said. The subject looked like she was going to ask something else, and Claudia had neither the time nor the inclination to explain the current state of parahuman research to a high-schooler, so she headed of whatever she was about to say with: “If you’re interested in the topic, I can have one of my team send you some references. You should be able to access the relevant journals through the PRT library.”  
  
“I’d like that.” The subject actually smiled a little. “Thank you, Dr Mackenzie.”  
  
“You’re welcome.” Privately, Claudia doubted she’d be able to understand much of it, but at least it stopped her asking questions.  
  
“I’ll put together the list, Dr Mackenzie,” Sita offered, neatly solving the problem of who would end up saddled with the task. Claudia had been thinking of giving it to one of her troublemakers, but since Sita was volunteering…  
  
“Thank you. And goodbye for the moment.”  
  
On that note, she made her exit.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Sita_ **

 

Sita wasn’t certain if Astrid — she couldn’t think of her as ‘the subject,’ no matter what Dr Mackenzie said — was generally uncomfortable around doctors, or if it was just her. Certainly, the poor girl seemed rather ill at ease when her escort left her in the medical wing, standing there all stiff and awkward-looking.  
  
(The escort was pretty easy on the eye, Sita couldn’t help but notice. She’d seen him around — hard not to, given how interconnected this place was — but she’d never really spoken to him outside of a work context. Maybe she should rectify that. But… No. Dating a colleague — or even just hooking up with one — was probably a bad idea. But it had been a while, and it was just so hard to meet people outside of work. Still, there was no harm in enjoying the view.)  
  
(Maybe she should just focus on trying to make a few friends here. Perhaps even some with whom she could indulge in a little harmless flirtation. She felt like she got on pretty well with her immediate colleagues — especially Simon — but it wouldn’t hurt to branch out a little. Wasn’t there supposed to be a party coming up? She vaguely remembered seeing an e-mail to that effect, and she had been feeling like she could do with a night off. It wasn’t that Dr Mackenzie expected her staff to spend all their time working, but Sita didn’t want to fall behind, and working here often required knowledge and skills that she hadn’t really expected or trained for…)  
  
(Seriously: who knew that having perfect pitch and the ability to read music might turn out to suddenly be essential skills when testing a parahuman’s ability?)  
  
“Well, this is Medical,” Sita said cheerfully, dragging her gaze away from Vincent’s departing back. (Okay; technically lower down, but she wasn’t a woman of stone! And, like she’d said, it had been a while.) “And you’ll be in this cubicle over here…”  
  
She kept up a steady stream of what she hoped was soothing chatter as she got Astrid settled into the cubicle. The girl was clearly shy. Still, she did seem to relax a little as Sita gently tried to engage her in conversation, even if she did keep calling her Dr Chaudhry, rather than Sita.  
  
(Hearing that still made Sita want to look around for her father, even though his doctorate had been in music theory. It was sometimes a shock to realise that she was allegedly a grown-up now. Technically.)  
  
As Sita headed towards Dr Mackenzie’s office, she wondered why Kimberly had been interested in Astrid’s jewellery. Astrid had seemed a little reluctant to take off her heavy-looking metal bracelets, but she could understand that. Sita herself didn’t like removing her rings. Even after all this time, her fingers felt weird every time she took them off. She had tried to reassure Astrid that her things would be safe in the locker, but it hadn’t seemed to help all that much.  
  
Of course, all the progress Sita had made in trying to help Astrid feel a little more at ease went right out of the window when she returned with Dr Mackenzie. Sita respected the other woman’s experience and skills a great deal, but seriously: her bedside manner was appalling. Did she not realise they were dealing with a possibly nervous teenager?  
  
 _Make that a nervous teenager with superpowers,_ she thought a little while later, as she saw metal move like something living, forming shapes seemingly of its own accord. This was… Astrid wasn’t the first parahuman she’d been in contact with. (She was actually the ninth. Because of course Sita remembered them all. Every single one.) But she still felt awed when she saw one of them use their powers; especially when she had a front row seat. That was why she’d got into this area of research in the first place: that sense of awe and wonder. She just wanted to understand. Not how the specific powers worked, although some of them were fascinating. It was more… What made these people capable of such marvels?  
  
What made them special?  
  
Sure there was the Corona Pollentia, and the Gemma within it, but those were only part of the answer. Just like ‘what’ was only part of the question.  
  
The more she learned about the ‘what’ of it, the more she found she wanted to understand the ‘how.’  
  
When she saw Astrid control the metal as if it was an extension of her own flesh, she felt that awe all over again.  
  
But it didn’t last. Because, afterwards, when Astrid realised what she’d been doing and showed that brief flash of something that looked a lot like panic, Sita didn’t see a superhuman.  
  
  _(No, Sita; bad Sita. The term is parahuman. Not superhuman. You remember Simon’s account of how Dr Mackenzie verbally tore strips off the last person she heard talking about ‘superhumans.’ Do not get into the habit, not even in your own mind.)_  
  
She didn’t see her as someone with powers. But she didn’t just see her as a shy, slightly nervous teenager either.  
  
She just saw a girl who’d been badly hurt. Even if her physical injuries had been healed.  
  
(Reluctantly she recalled what she’d learned about trigger events. And she remembered that the wonders these people — these parahumans — could perform seemed to stem from horror.)  
  
(That, at its heart, power came from suffering.)  
  
(It really wasn’t something she liked to think about. And, despite the papers she’d read, despite the data she’d seen, she couldn’t help hoping that there was another explanation.)  
  
She tried to push that thought — (those thoughts) — away as she took Astrid to the MRI room and helped her settle into the machine; tried to focus on her job. It was… difficult. She honestly didn’t know how Dr Mackenzie did it.  
  
“Alright, you’re just about all set,” Sita told Astrid, making sure to stand where she could see her in the mirror positioned at an angle in her sightline. “Just one more thing: what kind of music would you like to listen to? The local radio stations aren’t that great, but we have a few playlists set up for different genres and artists.”  
  
Astrid actually looked a little lost. Sita wondered if she should make some suggestions — or say that silence was an option, although not one that she would recommend — but then Astrid spoke up.  
  
“Do you have something with a variety of different genres and artists?”  
  
“Let me check…” Sita murmured. “We’ve got something called ‘Mike’s Marvellously Miscellaneous Music Mix Mark Four.’ No idea who Mike is, or what happened to mixes one through three, but that sounds like it might be quite eclectic.”  
  
“That sounds good, thank you,” Astrid said, giving Sita a small smile.  
  
“Nuh uh. I said eclectic, not good,” Sita said, smiling back. “If you want good, that’s a whole different ball game.”  
  
“Eclectic will do just fine, then,” Astrid replied, her smile seeming a little more natural. “Thank you, Dr Chaudhry.”  
  
Resisting the urge to look around for her father again, Sita nodded at Astrid. “Remember: if there are any problems, press the emergency call button by your right hand. Otherwise, I’ll see you in about ninety minutes.”  
  
As she settled into the small observation and control booth next to Simon, the team’s resident MRI technologist, she couldn’t help feeling a small flutter of nervousness. What if Astrid’s power flared up while she was in the machine? Would she wreck the thing?  
  
“Better hope she’s not claustrophobic,” Simon murmured, as if he was thinking along the same lines.  
  
(As well as being the person in charge of the group’s MRI machine — and general go-to guy for some of the group’s other tech — Simon was involved in a project to develop better contrast dyes for functional MRI of the Gemma. The hope was that they could scan the brains of parahumans using their powers, and try to figure out if there were any consistent patterns of activation. Or, hell, getting any detailed information at all would be a real coup, even if there were no consistent patterns. From the sounds of it, though, the project was very much a work in progress.)  
  
“According to Kimberly, she said she wasn’t,” Sita said, trying not to fret.  
  
“People say all kinds of things,” Simon said. Sita was about to chide him for his cynicism when he fixed her with what she thought was a needlessly judgemental look. “Mike’s Marvellously Miscellaneous Music Mix Mark Four?” he asked, and his voice was judgemental too. “Really?”  
  
“Astrid said she wanted eclectic,” Sita said, shrugging. “It sounded pretty eclectic to me.”  
  
“You’d better not let Dr Mackenzie catch you using her name,” he replied. “You know how she feels about that.”  
  
“I know, I know,” Sita sighed. “It’s just… It’s hard, you know? She’s just a kid. And she’s obviously been through a lot. And I honestly don’t see the harm in treating them like human beings. I’m not going to burn out just because I call ‘the subjects’ by their names, and chat with them a little during the tests.”  
  
“Not at first, no,” Simon said quietly, his expression serious. “But the thing you have to remember is that we see a lot of parahumans here. A **lot**. Not just the new triggers — although there are a fair few of those — but also the ones who come in to help us with our research.”  
  
“The volunteers, you mean?” Sita couldn’t help interrupting.  
  
She knew it couldn’t be easy for heroes to take time away from keeping the streets safe for ordinary people, but some of them did it anyway. They understood that the work the researchers here at the facility were doing would ultimately benefit all capes, and through them, perhaps humankind as a whole. She had nothing but the highest respect for them.  
  
“Volunteers. Sure. Let’s call them that.” There was an odd, wry tone to Simon’s voice that she didn’t quite understand, but before she could ask about it he was already continuing. “Point is, you start to figure out a few things after you’ve seen enough of them pass through here. Maybe it’s not anything that you could publish, or even maybe prove, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Sita asked impatiently. “Stop being so needlessly melodramatic, Simon.”  
  
“They’re all broken,” he said simply. “Every last one of them. And I’m not sure they can be fixed. It doesn’t matter how much they smile, or laugh, or joke around. There’s something **wrong** with them.”  
  
Sita blinked at him, nonplussed. “That’s… a little dark. Also still way too melodramatic. When it comes down to it, they’re just people.”  
  
“Yes. Broken people,” he said. “And if you keep trying to connect with each and every parahuman you meet, it’ll start to wear you down. It’ll wear you out. I’ve seen it happen before.” He shook his head. “You’re a doctor, Sita; surely they told you about the dangers of getting too invested in your patients.”  
  
Sita frowned, turning over Simon’s words in her mind.  
  
“Yes, but I think it’s fairly safe to say that there’s a whole lot of excluded middle ground between over-investing and treating them like automatons. And I really think you’re exaggerating about them being broken. Sure, a lot of them are traumatised, but that’s a perfectly normal response to trauma. Plus, let’s not forget that most of them basically fight villains for a living! It stands to reason that some of them might have a few issues. But then so do people in law enforcement. Or, hell, ER doctors. Or anyone with a high-stress job. And, if you ask me — which, honestly, you pretty much did — calling someone ‘unfixable’ seems like a pretty damned arrogant thing to say.”  
  
Simon looked at her for a moment, and she worried that she might have mortally offended him, but then he gave her a wry smile.  
  
“Well, maybe it is a little arrogant of me. And perhaps I am being just a touch melodramatic. Just… be careful, okay? You seem like such a bright young thing, and I’d hate for you to get ground down.”  
  
“I won’t,” she said, firmly. She grinned lopsidedly back at him. “But you clearly need to take a little time away from that penny dreadful you’re writing.”  
  
“It’s a gothic romance, not a penny dreadful,” Simon sniffed haughtily.  
  
“Whatever,” Sita said, waving a hand dismissively. “I think you need to detox from the melodrama. Fortunately, I hear there’s a party coming up…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

“Can you describe how it feels when you use your power?” Kimberly asked.  
  
Astrid was quiet for a moment. “In what sense, Ma’am?” She sounded cautious.  
  
“What do you mean?” Kimberly’s puzzlement was feigned, but her curiosity was not. She had deliberately kept the question relatively nonspecific, interested to see how Astrid interpreted it.  
  
“Are you asking about how it feels physically or emotionally, Ma’am?”  
  
“Let’s say both.”  
  
There was another slight pause. Kimberly had noticed that Astrid sometimes took her time answering questions. She didn’t get the sense that it was out of nervousness, per se — or, at least, not just out of nervousness — so much as out of a desire to think through her responses. It would be interesting to compare notes with the other people she would be interacting with through the course of the day and see if it was something she did generally, or if it she was particularly cautious because this was a psychological evaluation.  
  
“Do you mean any aspect of my power in particular, Ma’am, or just generally?”  
  
Kimberly made sure to smile, keeping her posture relaxed and open. “I’ll leave that up to you.”  
  
So far, Astrid had been cautious, but cooperative. The latter was more than could be said for some of the other parahumans Kimberly had been asked to evaluate. At the same time, she seemed to be concerned about giving the ‘wrong’ answers, despite Kimberly’s attempts to reassure her that there were no wrong answers here. The report by the relevant CPS specialist had noted that she referred to her father’s abuse as ‘punishment,’ though, so her concern was entirely understandable. Hopefully the counsellors would be able to help her work through that.  
  
Kimberly made some notes while Astrid thought about how to answer the question, not wanting to rush her.  
  
“Physically, it’s like having an extra sense, Ma’am,” she said quietly. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but my power is always on, and it works on anything I touch.” She hesitated for a moment and then added: “Or taste.” Kimberly only just stopped herself from raising her eyebrows. That last part hadn’t been in her file. Dr Mackenzie would undoubtedly be interested in that titbit of information, though. Kimberly made a note. “I can feel… or maybe see… or maybe it’s a little of both.” She shook her head, frowning a little. “I apologise for my imprecision, but it’s difficult to accurately describe how I process the information.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Kimberly said soothingly. “Just do the best you can.”  
  
Astrid nodded. “It’s not quite seeing, not quite hearing, not quite touching… but it’s a little like all three of those, all at once, plus…” Her gaze was distant, and Kimberly wondered if she was focusing on her power right now. Andrew remained quiet, though, so the tremor sensors presumably weren’t picking up anything. “I’m afraid I just don’t have the words to describe that.”  
  
“That’s not unusual,” Kimberly said. “Human language stems from human experience, after all. Once you step beyond that, it’s no surprise that existing words prove inadequate to the task.” It was a little frustrating, but it couldn’t be helped. All they could do was keep asking the questions. “But you’re doing fine, Astrid,” she added, wanting to make it clear that the girl wasn’t at fault. “Please continue.”  
  
 (Kimberly recalled that there was one research group working with synaesthetes and other people with sensory processing abnormalities, hoping to gain some insights into novel parahuman senses from their studies. If she remembered correctly, they’d recently recruited some linguists to work on constructing a whole new vocabulary for the purpose of describing the the sensory information in a consistent manner.)  
  
(That last part had actually made it into the popular press, rather than simply being buried in an obscure scientific journal, because one of the linguists they’d recruited had made a name for himself constructing artificial languages for some popular TV show. Something about a group of people who travelled between dimensions or worlds or something along those lines. Kimberly had never really gotten into the show, but some of her friends raved about it.)  
  
(Personally, she had her doubts about whether the research project would amount to much in the end, but it couldn’t hurt to try.)  
  
“So that’s just the sensory part of my power, Ma’am,” Astrid said. “The… thinker aspect, I guess.”  
  
“Please don’t feel constrained to use those categories,” Kimberly said swiftly, yet patiently.  
  
She silently cursed whoever had allowed those terms to escape into the wild. Yes, the categories had their uses, and yes, they did need some way of classifying parahuman abilities. But for every person who understood that they were merely broad strokes labels that missed much of the nuance — they were meant as a shorthand for threat assessments, for crying out loud — there were at least a dozen more who took them as some sort of universal law. At this stage, it was more important to get an accurate impression of what a parahuman could actually do than to worry about fitting their abilities into neat little boxes.  
  
“Sorry, Ma’am,” Astrid said after a moment.  
  
“No apology necessary,” Kimberly assured her. “I would just prefer you to focus on the experience of using your power for the moment; on how it feels. Whatever that means to you.”  
  
Astrid studied Kimberly for a moment, and then nodded. “I can sense the structure of… of objects on both a molecular and a macro-scale, Ma’am,” Astrid said. Kimberly made a note of the hesitation; wondered about the reason for it. “It’s been a constant part of my awareness ever since I triggered. I usually have to damp it down a little bit so it’s not too distracting.”  
  
“Do you often find it distracting?” Kimberly asked.  
  
Astrid was quiet for a moment. “I did at first, Ma’am,” she said quietly.  
  
When Astrid didn’t continue right away, Kimberly gently prompted her with: “And now?”  
  
“Generally not, Ma’am.” Kimberly scribbled a few words on her pad while she waited to see if Astrid would elaborate. “I’ve worked on improving my ability to focus. It seems to have helped quite a bit.”  
  
“Oh?” Kimberly asked, interested, but not wanting to push at his stage.  
  
Astrid seemed to stiffen a little. “Nothing too complicated, Ma’am,” she said cautiously. “I just… practiced until I could find a balance between receiving enough information from my power and maintaining an adequate level of situational awareness.”  
  
“And there goes her stress level again,” Andrew murmured in Kimberly’s ear. “I would be interested to hear something a little more specific about how she practiced, and what techniques she used.”  
  
Kimberly was interested herself, but it was a topic she wanted to approach cautiously. Astrid’s file had contained reports from her team leader and the local Youth Guard representative that mentioned the ‘training’ her father put her through. The CPS specialist’s report had also noted that Astrid claimed her father’s physical abuse — not that she referred to it as such — had worsened since her trigger event. Those two facts in conjunction meant she had some suspicions as to how Astrid might have been motivated to get a handle on her power. Andrew, however, hadn’t seen Astrid’s file.  
  
(They generally preferred to work that way, with the interviewer having access to all the relevant information and the monitor essentially coming in blind. It was an approach that generally seemed to yield good results.)  
  
For the moment, Kimberly judged it best not to press for specific details. Perhaps it was a subject they’d be able to return to later.  
  
“I see,” she said, her tone neutral. She decided against prompting Astrid with any specific cues, curious to see where she would go from here.  
  
“If I stop damping down my power, or if I actively focus more of my attention on it, there’s a corresponding increase in the amount of detailed information I receive, Ma’am,” Astrid said. There was a brief but noticeable pause before she continued. “If the object is large or complicated enough, it can become a little… overwhelming, sometimes to the point of bringing on a migraine. But, with practice, it seems to get easier to push the limits. The same way it becomes easier to process the information without losing situational awareness.”  
  
“Do you often try to push your limits?” Kimberly asked carefully.  
  
“It’s the only way to improve, Ma’am,” Astrid replied.  
  
Kimberly considered her words for a moment before responding. “I would urge caution when trying to push the limits of your power,” she said. Because forbidding it outright was never going to be effective, even with someone who was apparently inclined towards obedience. “The side-effects of power overuse can sometimes be quite severe.”  
  
“I am careful, Ma’am,” Astrid said, earnestly. “I have no intention of crippling myself. But I think I would have to push a great deal further than I have been before I get anywhere near the point of actually damaging myself.”  
  
Damaging. Not injuring. That was interesting.  
  
“I’m glad that you’re aware of the risks,” Kimberly said. “But accidents can happen, and I understand that it can be easy to get carried away.”  
  
“I understand, Ma’am,” Astrid said after a moment. “And I’ll continue to be careful.”  
  
“Good,” Kimberly said, trying not to let her misgivings show. Not that she didn’t believe Astrid, but, well… Teenage parahuman. If Astrid did end up inadvertently pushing herself too hard while being convinced that she was, in fact, being perfectly careful, she would hardly be the first member of either of those groups to do so. Kimberly tried to reassure herself that between the Wards’ team leader, the PRT director and the Youth Guard representative, there were enough eyes on Astrid to make sure she didn’t accidentally cause herself harm. But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a note of her concerns in the report to the counselling team. Just in case. “Right,” she said, gathering her thoughts together. “Why don’t you tell me about the more active uses of your power?”


	2. Chapter 2

_**Simon** _

 

“Hey, Simon.”  
  
“Yeah?” Simon looked up from the console to see Tom — one of the team’s resident biochemists — skulking around in the doorway to the test chamber control booth. It was a little impressive that someone so tall could skulk so effectively.  
  
“Will you tell Dr Mackenzie that the solutions she asked for are ready? They’re racked up on the end of the bench in bay two.”  
  
Simon rolled his eyes. “You could tell her yourself.”  
  
Tom winced. “I’d rather not. Can’t you just pass on the message? She likes you.”  
  
“You can’t avoid her forever, you know,” Simon said, not without a certain amount of sympathy. A small amount, perhaps, but definitely some.  
  
He knew Tom was still a little rattled after being chewed out over the great labelling cock-up of a few weeks ago. The bulk of Dr Mackenzie’s ire hadn’t been so much about the fact that he’d mislabelled some samples — even Dr Mackenzie accepted that mistakes happened sometimes, after all. Rather, she’d been annoyed about the fact that he hadn’t owned up to it right away. If he had, the error wouldn’t have been compounded, and fixing it would have been a much, much simpler task. Simon was, however, reasonably sure that Tom wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.  
  
“I don’t need to avoid her forever, just long enough that she stops looking at me like I’m something that she scraped off her shoe,” Tom muttered.  
  
Simon couldn’t help laughing at that. “Okay, now you’re being paranoid. She’s almost certainly put it out of her mind by now.”  
  
“It’s easy for you to say. Like I said: she likes you.”  
  
“She barely notices me, you mean,” Simon said, trying to keep the by-now familiar bitterness out of his voice. “After all, I’m ‘just’ a technician.”  
  
“Hey, come on,” Tom said. “Technicians are important too.”  
  
“Not that you’d know it to talk to some of the researchers here.”  
  
Simon knew that his job was an important one. Every single parahuman that came through here got an MRI scan, and Simon was the one who performed the vast majority of those scans. (Like he’d told Sita earlier — he’d met a lot of parahumans over the years.) He was good at his job and, by and large, he did enjoy it. It was just… sometimes a little acknowledgement would be nice.  
  
“I can understand how that must be frustrating,” Tom said, his tone resolutely cheerful. “But you know how important you are, right? That’s got to count for something.”  
  
“I suppose,” Simon murmured. He sighed. “I guess I’m just in a bit of a slump. Sometimes it feels like I put in all this effort, but it doesn’t mean anything. I’m not going anywhere because there’s nowhere for me to go. And I’m not even helping anyone, not really.”  
  
It wasn’t enough for him to be familiar with every aspect of the MRI machine itself — not to mention all the other equipment that had somehow become his responsibility over the years — and to make sure he kept up to date with advances in both imaging technology generally and the more specialised field of parahuman medical imaging. He also had to have good people-wrangling skills.  
  
A few of the doctors and researchers were willing to pitch in, he supposed. For example, Sita had been pretty good about sticking around on the few occasions she’d brought subjects to him for scanning. Then again, she’d only been here a month or so, so he was reserving judgement until the honeymoon period was over. Mostly, though, they just left the subjects with him and disappeared off to work on their very important research.  
  
Not that he didn’t work on the odd research project here and there, even though chances of seeing his name on a paper under ‘authors’ rather than ‘acknowledgements’ was slim to fucking none.  
  
Tom shrugged. “Sure you are. At the very least, you’re helping parahumans get a handle on their powers. Doesn’t that count for something?”  
  
“I guess so,” Simon said, but he still couldn’t shake the feelings of dissatisfaction that seemed to have been bubbling up to the surface more and more of late. He’d been so excited when he first came to work here; so **thrilled** that he’d be playing his part in figuring out the mystery that was the parahuman condition. But now…  
  
Maybe it was time for a change of scenery. He could look for a job in a hospital, he supposed. At least that way he would be helping people more directly. And if he wanted to be involved in research, there were options there, too. He’d probably get a good reference from Dr Mackenzie, and, whatever else might be said about working at this place, it did look good on a CV.  
  
He turned to regard Tom thoughtfully. “Anyway, how are you finding working in this madhouse?”  
  
Tom had been here a few months now. Given his specialty, they didn’t tend to work directly together, and the two of them never really socialised all that much. Honestly, they just didn’t seem to have all that much in common.  
  
“It’s pretty cool, I guess,” Tom said, shrugging. “I mean, a job’s a job, right? And it’s not like I’ve really figured out what I want to do long-term. Honestly, I just sent out applications anywhere and everywhere when I graduated. I got a job offer from here, so I accepted.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you said when you first got here,” Simon said, amused.  
  
“Yes, because I’m going to tell Dr Mackenzie I sent out about a bazillion applications to all kinds of different places, that I don’t have a specific interest in parahuman research and, honestly, I still have no idea what I want to do with my life.” He suddenly looked stricken. “Um, please don’t tell her I said that.”  
  
“Your secret is safe with me,” Simon assured him, trying not to laugh.  
  
“Thanks.” Tom shot him a grateful look. “I enjoy the job, though, and I don’t think I’m bad at it, that mix-up with the labels aside. So… I guess I’ll stay until I figure out where else I might want to go. Assuming I don’t get fired before then.”  
  
“I’m sure you’re not going to get fired,” Simon assured him. “Just be more careful in future. But if you still want to avoid Dr Mackenzie I’ll tell her the solutions are ready.” He gave Tom a curious look. “What are they for, anyway?”  
  
“Apparently, the kid we’re testing today can identify chemical structures by taste. The doc wants to try and quantify that. And try to figure out how her sense of taste has been affected generally, I suppose.” He looked a little uneasy. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be helping out with that part or not.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. “I… guess I should probably go and talk to the doc, huh?”  
  
“It’s up to you,” Simon told him.  
  
Tom thought for a moment, and then squared his shoulders. “Okay. I’ll do it. Wish me luck.”  
  
“Good luck.”  
  
Simon just about managed to hold in the eye roll until Tom had left the booth.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Hi Simon.”  
  
Apparently today was Simon’s day for visitors.  
  
“Hey Kieran,” he replied, looking inquisitively up at the other man. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be out at the Garage setting up for the powers assessment.”  
  
As a materials engineer, Dr Kieran Bailey had been the logical choice to take point on testing this particular subject’s powers.  
  
“We’re mostly done,” Kieran said cheerfully, practically bouncing on his toes with what was either barely-repressed excitement, way too much caffeine or just his natural ebullience. Or some combination of all three. “My team has everything well in hand.”  
  
He did not know where the man found his energy. Not to mention his enthusiasm. His group — an eclectic mix of engineers, physicists, chemists and miscellaneous other specialities — were colloquially referred to as ‘The Props Department’ on account of how they seemed to spend most of their time building, maintaining and/or repurposing the various objects and pieces of equipment used in the tests. The members of the group undoubtedly had their own research interests — most people in this place did, after all — but that certainly wasn’t what they were known for. The work they did was also largely taken for granted by many of the other groups.  
  
Simon could sympathise.  
  
“So, what can I do for you?”  he asked.  
  
“Not mind my company, mainly,” Kieran said. “I was hoping to hang around and watch the rest of the tests, but I don’t want to get in the way down there.” He nodded down at the small knot of people in the test chamber. He grinned suddenly. “If it helps to sweeten the deal, I come bearing gifts.” He held up a bag of chocolate covered pretzels.  
  
“Well, when you put it like that…” Simon said, grinning back. “Sure, pull up a pew.” Honesty compelled him to add: “Although you know I would’ve agreed without the bribe.”  
  
“Sure,” Kieran said easily, throwing him the bag of pretzels. “But I guess I’m just nice like that.” He sat down and leaned forward, peering through the viewing window. “So, what’d I miss?”  
  
“Nothing too exciting,” Simon told him. “They did the general fitness tests and what not. The subject doesn’t seem to have any obvious brute abilities, although she’s apparently in pretty good shape. Strong for a girl.”  
  
“Tall, too,” Kierean mused, studying the masked, grey-clad figure. “She’s sixteen, right?”  
  
“Something like that.” Simon hadn’t really paid too much attention to the details. Really, other than ‘kid with powers who could end up wrecking his beautiful MRI machine if she freaked out during the scan,’ what more did he need to know?  
  
“So, what are they doing now?”  
  
“Sensory tests,” Simon said. “So far, nothing really out of the ordinary. She doesn’t seem to be able to see infra red or sense electricity or anything weird like that. It did look like she might have some kind of enhanced hearing at one point, but it turned out she was picking up vibrations from the sound booth, rather than actually hearing ultrasound or infrasound.”  
  
Which was interesting, but probably not all that useful, given how much concentration she’d said it had taken to actually decipher the simple sequence of dots and dashes.  
  
Kieran frowned. “The dampening should have prevented that, or at least minimised it.”  
  
“Apparently not enough.” Simon shrugged. “It was easy enough to work around, though.” As soon as they’d had the subject put on a pair of gloves, she’d no longer been able sense the sounds.  
  
“Still, I’ll look into possible solutions,” Kieran said. He gave Simon a curious look. “How come no one realised right away that she was feeling the sounds, rather than hearing them.”  
  
“Seems like she’s got some kind of synaesthesia going on with the sensory part of her power. According to Sita, that’s not all that uncommon for thinker powers. Probably something to do with the way the Corona Pollentia connects to the sensory cortex.”  
  
“I’ll pretend I understand what that means,” Kieran said, grinning. “I’m an engineer, remember, not a biologist.”  
  
Simon started to retort, but then he noticed movement down below. “Looks like they’re done with the taste testing,” he said.  
  
Kieran blinked. “Taste testing?” he asked.  
  
“Or, as Dr Mackenzie phrased it, chemical analysis through gustatory perception,” Simon explained.  
  
“Oh, right,” Kieran said, looking enlightened. “So, what’s up next?”  
  
“Proprioception, kinaesthesia and navigation.”  
  
The people below filed out of the test chamber. Sita would be taking the subject off to the prep room to get her ready for the next test. Tom, Ellen and that intern whose name he could never remember were carrying away the table, chair, racks, vials and everything else that was no longer needed. Dr Mackenzie — and anyone else who was interested in observing this next part — would either be coming here or would be making their way to one of the other observation rooms.  
  
Personally, he hoped that they chose one of the other rooms. Not that he was antisocial, but…  
  
Okay, maybe he was a little antisocial. Hanging out with one or two people at a time was pretty much his limit.  
  
(He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d agreed to go to that party with Sita. Guilt, possibly. He hadn’t actually meant to rant at her the way he had. Like he’d said to Tom, though, he was just in a bit of a slump at the moment.)  
  
He started running through the system checks; wanting to make sure everything was ready for when Dr Mackenzie gave the go-ahead to start.  
  
“Cool.” Kieran gave him a sly, sideways glance. “Don’t worry, I’ll try not to backseat drive too much.”  
  
Simon snorted. “You better not. Chocolate pretzels will only get you so far, my friend. Anyway, I’ve used this system way more than you have.”  
  
“Maybe, but my team are still the ones you call in when it needs fixing, or recalibrating, or whatever.”  
  
But there was no real heat behind the words. This line of conversation was more along the lines of a running joke between them than an actual argument. Besides, Simon was pretty sure Kieran considered him an honorary member of the Props Department at this point and, coming from him, that actually was an honour.  
  
(It was less of one when it came from someone in Medical, but that was neither here nor there.)  
  
“Mr Takeuchi, please set up the maze,” came Dr Mackenzie’s voice over the intercom. He felt a flare of relief that she — and any other observers — had apparently picked one of the other observation rooms after all.  
  
“That’s my cue,” murmured Simon. He entered the relevant commands, and the moveable walls in the test chamber arranged themselves into the first configuration.  
  
“Seems to be running smoothly,” Kieran noted, with clear satisfaction.  
  
Simon nodded absently, holding down the ‘transmit’ button as he leaned forward to murmur: “Ready when you are, Dr Mackenzie.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr Takeuchi. Dr Chaudhry, please escort the subject to the start of the maze.”  
  
“Yes, Dr Mackenzie,” came Sita’s voice.  
  
“Is the good doctor always this formal?” Kieran murmured.  
  
“She is when there’s a test in progress,” Simon replied. “She does actually address us by our first names when  it’s just the staff, but she is always, **always** Dr Mackenzie to the rest of us.”  
  
“Even on social occasions?” Kieran asked.  
  
“Yes, even then. Not that she really socialises with us all that much. Honestly, I suspect the rare occasions when she does so are only because someone prods her into it.”  
  
“Must be difficult,” Kieran said, sounding sympathetic.  
  
Simon shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”  
  
It wasn’t like he was really interested in socialising with his boss, after all. Or, honestly, most of his co-workers. And Dr Mackenzie might be a bit of a cold fish, but she wasn’t petty or vindictive, and she didn’t seem to hold grudges. All she cared about was getting the job done. He could respect that.  
  
Below, he saw Sita escorting the subject to the start of the maze. The girl’s head was mostly encased in a helmet designed to completely block out light and sound. She was also wearing a pair of gloves.  
  
Kieran leaned forward, presumably to get a better view of proceedings.  
  
“We’re working on a lighter-weight version of the helmet at the moment,” he said. “There’ve been a few complaints about how heavy it is.”  
  
(At first, they used to just turn the lights out and use either sound dampening or white noise to stop the subjects navigating using audio cues. The helmet, however, allowed for better control over exactly what sensory information the subjects received.)  
  
(Needless to say, every surface in the chamber was rubberised and impact-proofed, with not a sharp edge or protrusion in sight. No one wanted any of the subjects to injure themselves by running into something, or by falling.)  
  
“Dr Mackenzie will be pleased about that,” Simon said.  
  
Sita left the chamber. A moment later, Dr Mackenzie’s voice came over the intercom. “Please proceed, Mr Takeuchi.”  
  
“Yes, Dr Mackenzie.”  
  
Simon hit the button that both signalled the start of the test — by triggering a sound within the subject’s helmet — and started the timer. He and Kieran — and, presumably, the other observers — watched as the young parahuman navigated her way through the maze. The point of this part of the test was to establish a baseline. They would run her through five different configurations three times each, and then repeat the process with five new configurations, this time allowing her the use of her power.  
  
The first time through, the kid’s progress was slow — which was more or less as expected — but methodical, maintaining contact with one of the walls at all times and trying the different turnings in a systematic manner. When she reached the target and hit the button to stop the timer, Sita reappeared to lead her out of the door at that side of the chamber, and to bring her around to the start position again. Second time through, her progress was noticeably faster, with far fewer dead-ends and false starts. Third time was apparently the charm: a more or less perfect run.  
  
“She picked that up quickly,” Kieran mused, his eyebrows raised. “Are you sure she’s not using her power?”  
  
Simon shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. They’re supposed to be watching for that, though.”  
  
It was more or less the same story with configurations two through five. For the next part of the test, she was gloveless and barefoot. And when she all-but sprinted unerringly through the maze on the first attempt, it seemed pretty clear that she really hadn’t been using her power before.  
  
“She didn’t even touch the walls that time,” Kieran noted.  
  
Dr Mackenzie had them extend the test, using more complicated configurations than they’d originally planned. The subject did slow down a little for the really complicated ones — maybe it took her a moment to learn the route? — but in general she might as well have been able to see perfectly.  
  
She did run into some into difficulties when Dr Mackenzie had Tom, Ellen and the nameless intern drag in some rounded rubberised blocks and position them randomly throughout the maze. Apparently, her power didn’t let her sense those obstacles the same way it let her know where the walls were, judging by the way she tripped over the first one she came across. She did, however, manage to roll to her feet, rather than just sprawling ass over apex.  
  
(Simon wondered idly if she’d had some martial arts training.)  
  
She touched the block briefly, and then placed both hands flat on the wall for a few moments. As Simon watched, thin streams of rubber flowed from the wall to wrap around her arms and body, sprouting a veritable forest of fine tendrils that extended out all around her like feelers. Or a cat’s whiskers. When she set off again — at a more cautious pace than before — she managed to avoid every single one of the blocks in her path.  
  
Simon honestly wasn’t sure if her solution to the problem was really within the spirit of the test, but if Dr Mackenzie complained about it, it wasn’t over the intercom where he could hear. (When the test was over, the subject returned the rubber to the wall she’d taken it from. As far as he could tell, when she’d finished, the wall looked like it had never been touched.)  
  
They got similar results with the balance beam, the travelator, the elevator, the gyroscope, the climbing wall, the spiderweb, the peg board and the space pod. Even without her power, the subject already seemed to have a pretty good sense of kinaesthesia, proprioception and balance. With her power, the lack of visual and auditory cues barely seemed to hinder her at all.  
  
“Was that interesting enough for you?” he asked Kieran when the tests were complete. The other man was leaning back in his seat, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling.  
  
“What? Oh, yes,” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “I’ve got a few ideas for some new tests, actually.” He checked his watch and grimaced. “Which reminds me, I guess I’d better get a move on.”  
  
“I seem to remember Sita saying something about the subject being scheduled for lunch after Medical is finished with her,” Simon said. “So you might have a bit more time yet.”  
  
“Great, thanks.” Kieran said distractedly, getting to his feet. “I’ll check the schedule. Thanks for letting me hang around.”  
  
“No problem,” Simon said. “Hey, anytime you want to bribe me with food, you’re more than… And, he’s already gone,” he finished, his words falling on empty air. Amused, he shook his head as he began resetting the test chamber.  
  
_At least someone in this place is still enthusiastic about their work…_

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

Kimberly looked at her watch.  
  
“I’m afraid I need to take a brief break.” She didn’t really, but she judged it was as good a point as any to see how Astrid reacted to being left alone in the office for a short while. She set her pen down, closed her notebook and turned off the tape recorder with an audible click. “Would you like any refreshments?” she asked as she got to her feet.  
  
“I’m fine, thank you Ma’am.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Kimberly smiled. “It’s really no trouble. I was just planning on asking the intern to bring me a coffee, and he can fetch two drinks as easily as one.” Not that she really needed a drink — and she would generally refer to Vincent by name, not simply as ‘the intern’ — but there was a reason for this, as there had been for everything else she’d done so far.  
  
Astrid hesitated for a moment. “Then I would like a black coffee please. If it isn’t too much trouble.”  
  
“It’s no trouble at all,” Kimberly assured her with a smile. “I’ll be back shortly.”  
  
She left the office, and made her way to join Andrew in the observation room.  
  
“You haven’t missed anything,” he informed her as she took a seat. “She hasn’t moved from her seat since you left the room.” He studied the display thoughtfully. “Do you think she knows she’s being watched?”  
  
“I’m not sure,” Kimberly said, frowning.  
  
It was certainly a possibility, based on Vargas’ report of what Astrid’s power had let her discover about the Merlin. But she would presumably need skin contact with some part of the room — likely the ground — in order to do so. In any event, it wasn’t like they had a good way of determining precisely why Astrid was remaining seated merely from observing her, and a quick glance over the sensor readouts didn’t reveal any obvious indicators of stress or agitation.  
  
Kimberly took advantage of the brief break to deal with a few minor things, including sending messages to Dr Mackenzie and Kieran regarding the information Astrid had revealed so far about her powers. She also added a note to Dr Mackenzie that would hopefully soften the impact of anything Andrew might have said to her. She hoped it would help. During the few minutes that took, Astrid did nothing more significant than glance around the room.  
  
At around the ten minute mark, Astrid started showing signs of anxiety. Or, at least, the sensors did. The girl herself remained still, her expression neutral.  
  
“She’s a fairly self-possessed young woman, that one,” Andrew observed.  
  
“That’s what we have the sensors for,” Kimberly murmured. “Anyway, I think that’s my cue to head back. There’s just something I need to do first…”  
  
She used the comms system in the observation room to contact Vincent via his earbud.  
  
“Hello, Dr Ross,” Vincent’s voice greeted her warmly. “What can I do for you?”  
  
She was a little amused that he still used her title even though Astrid wasn’t anywhere within earshot. It was good practice, she supposed.  
  
“I hate to impose,” Kimberly said. “But would you mind bringing some refreshments to the office?”  
  
“It’s no imposition,” he assured her. “I knew what I was signing up for when I agreed to this.”  
  
Maybe he did, at that, she thought. At least, he probably didn’t have a bad idea by this point — this wasn’t the first time they’d had him play this role, after all — but he may or may not have figured out all the details.  
  
“Well, I appreciate it anyway,” she said firmly. “Can you please bring us two coffees? Black with no sugar for Astrid and white with one sugar for myself. And please give me my drink first.”  
  
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Vincent said.  
  
“Thank you, Vincent. And I apologise in advance for my rudeness.”  
  
He laughed. “No apology necessary, Dr Ross. Like I said: I knew what I was signing up for.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Sorry about that,” Kimberly said, as she re-entered the office.  
  
“That’s alright, Ma’am,” Astrid replied, sounding a little uncertain.  
  
Kimberly sat back down at her desk and turned the tape recorder back on. “Interview resuming after a break of approximately fifteen minutes,” she said, and returned her attention to Astrid. “The coffees should be here shortly.”  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Astrid replied.  
  
“I don’t know how you can drink black coffee,” Kimberly said, which wasn’t entirely true, but was as good an opening as any.  
  
“I’ve always drunk it that way, Ma’am,” Astrid said politely.  
  
“You don’t find it too bitter without sugar?”  
  
“I don’t have a particularly sweet tooth, Ma’am,” she said, giving a small shrug. She frowned. “At least, I never used to.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
“My power seems to have affected my sense of taste,” she said simply. “Some chemical structures feel…” She hesitated, but Kimberly wasn’t sure if that was because she was reluctant to explain, or if she was simply having trouble finding the right words. “Pleasant. Various sugars apparently fall into that category.”  
  
“I see,” Kimberly said, making a note. “Pleasant in what way?”  
  
“Just… pleasant, Ma’am,” Astrid said. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can explain more precisely than that.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Kimberly said. She smiled. “I could ask the intern to add some sugar to your coffee, if you’d prefer.”  
  
“No, thank you, Ma’am,” Astrid said. “I’d rather not increase my sugar intake too much.”  
  
Kimberly made a note of that. “Are you concerned about your diet?”  
  
“Not concerned, Ma’am. But nutrition is an important part of fitness.”  
  
This was getting a little off track, but Kimberly could see several ways in which she could lead the conversation around to potential subjects of interest. However, before she could attempt to do so, there was a knock at the door.  
  
“Come in,” Kimberly called out. It was Vincent with the drinks.  
  
“Hello,” he said, smiling at the pair of them. “I believe you requested coffees?”  
  
“Yes,” Kimberly said. She frowned. “Although you took your time about it.”  
  
“Sorry about that, Dr Ross,” Vincent said easily. He handed her the white coffee. “I believe this one is yours.”  
  
It almost killed her not to say thank you, but she kept her expression stern, barely even sparing him a glance as she took a sip of her coffee. She was aware of Astrid giving her a cautious look as she pulled a face.  
  
“I asked for sugar in this,” she said sharply.  
  
“She doesn’t like that at all,” Andrew murmured. “Very sharp pulse spike there.”  
  
Kimberly wasn’t entirely surprised about that.  
  
At the same time, Vincent said: “I’m sorry about that, Dr Ross. It won’t happen again.”  
  
He’d been through this charade before, of course, with other parahumans they were testing. It was never quite the same scenario each time — they didn’t want the reactions to seem too rehearsed, after all — but it was all for the same purpose.  
  
To find out how the parahuman in question responded to different situations and different types of stress.  
  
(There were, of course, concerns with subjecting potentially agitated and volatile parahumans to further stresses. Kimberly herself harboured her own worries, as did many of the other people on staff here. But testing the suitability of parahumans for field work wasn’t just about figuring out the details of their powers. It was about finding out if they would snap under pressure; if their powers would flare out of control. If that was going to happen, it was best to find out under relatively controlled conditions, where the situation could be closely monitored.)  
  
(And where they had containment measures in place.)  
  
(Besides, they’d been doing this for a while now. They had a great deal of experience in figuring out the optimal balance between applying enough pressure to find out where a person’s stress points were, without pushing so hard that they snapped.)  
  
(There were stories of occasional missteps back during the earliest days of this programme, but that was a long time ago. They’d learned since then.)  
  
(These days, it was rare for them to inadvertently push too hard.)  
  
“See that it doesn’t,” Kimberly replied tartly.  
  
“Would you like me to go and fetch some sugar?” he asked, sounding a little subdued. Kimberly made a mental note to commend him later on his acting ability.  
  
“No, that’s fine,” she said, sighing. “This will have to do.”  
  
He nodded to her, and turned to Astrid, turning on the smile again. “And this one is for you.” His smile dimmed just a little, the slightest hint of uncertainty in his voice as he said: “I hope it’s alright.”  
  
“Thank you, Vincent,” Astrid said, accepting the drink. She took a sip, and smiled back at him. “It’s perfect.”  
  
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, with just a touch of relief in his demeanour. “I’ll see you when you’re finished here.”  
  
(Yes, Kimberly would definitely commend him later. And almost certainly apologise again. She really, really hated being rude to anyone, especially someone junior to her.)  
  
“See you then,” Astrid replied.  
  
“Dr Ross,” Vincent said quietly, and took his leave.  
  
Astrid seemed to relax a little once he’d gone, but she still seemed a tad tense to Kimberly’s eyes. She really wanted to make some notes right about now, but she resisted the urge. No point in taking the risk of tipping Astrid off that this was all part of the evaluation.  
  
Astrid took another sip of her drink.  
  
“This is good coffee, Ma’am,” she said, her tone quiet but firm, meeting Kimberly’s gaze.  
  
“I’m glad you like it,” Kimberly said, letting her expression soften again. She took a sip of her own coffee to let the silence stretch, wanting to see if Astrid would say anything further.  
  
“I’m sure Vincent won’t forget the sugar again, Ma’am,” she said. Neither her expression nor her tone gave very much away, but her posture was still fairly tense.  
  
“We’ll see,” Kimberly said, keeping her own tone fairly neutral. She set her coffee down to let it cool a little. (And also so she could make some notes as soon as the opportunity arose.) Studying Astrid thoughtfully, she asked: “Do you think I was too harsh with him?”  
  
Nervousness flickered over Astrid’s face briefly before she got her expression under control again. She took a sip of her coffee. Kimberly couldn’t swear to it, but she thought she saw the glint of metal at the girl’s wrist as she lifted her cup. When she set it down again, however, there was nothing visible there but her sleeve.  
  
She remembered the PRT duty officer’s description of how Astrid had demonstrated her power to him and only just kept the frown from her face. Astrid would hardly be the first parahuman who’d come armed to her power assessment — assuming, of course, that Kimberly hadn’t been mistaken about what she’d seen — but if she had, that spoke volumes about her current state of mind.  
  
(In general, it was not the policy of the northeast facility to search the parahumans they were evaluating. Honestly, given that they all had powers, no one was really too concerned about whatever mundane weaponry they might have secreted about their person. There were, obviously, exceptions, but it general the policy was to give them the benefit of the doubt unless given a reason to do otherwise. It was a decision that had been taken well before Kimberly’s time and, by and large, it was one she agreed with.)  
  
It was certainly something that Kimberly would like to have confirmed one way or the other.  
  
“It was only a minor error, Ma’am, and an easy one to make,” Astrid said. “And, like I said, I doubt it will happen again. He seemed quite apologetic.”  
  
That sounded like a ‘yes,’ although apparently she was unwilling to come right out and say as much directly. It was interesting that her response to seeing an underling being rebuked — even mildly — was protective in nature, and it was certainly something worth exploring further. Kimberly made some quick notes, among them a reminder to herself to ask Sita to try to find out whether Astrid did, in fact, have metal wrapped around her forearms when she helped her get ready for her medical examination.  
  
“Would you have handled the situation differently?” she asked.  
  
Astrid took another drink of her coffee. (Kimberly kept an eye out for that telltale glint of metal, but it didn’t reappear.)  
  
“I’m not sure, Ma’am,” Astrid said quietly.  
  
Although Kimberly gave her the chance to elaborate on her response, she showed no inclination to do so.  
  
“Well, I hope Vincent will prove to be an adequate escort for you today. Please feel free to let me know if you have any complaints.”  
  
“I’m sure it will be fine, Ma’am,” Astrid said.  
  
“Judging from the sensor readings, she’s still pretty tense,” Andrew murmured. “I guess Vincent must have made a pretty favourable impression if she’s this worried about him getting in trouble.”  
  
That could be it, Kimberly supposed, at least in part. Given what she knew about Astrid, however, she strongly suspected there was more to it than that.  
  
It would be interesting to read Vincent’s report on his interactions with Astrid over the course of the day.  
  
“Have you ever been in a position of authority? Or been responsible for other people?” Kimberly asked, genuinely curious about the answer to that question.  
  
Astrid froze, her mug part-way to her mouth. Her eyes widening fractionally for the briefest of moments, but then her expression turned blank and wooden. Apparently shaking off her paralysis, she continued with the interrupted motion, taking a long drink of her coffee.  
  
(Kimberly was a little worried that she would burn her mouth doing that.)  
  
“Well, that certainly got a reaction,” Andrew said, sounding a little surprised.  
  
Kimberly had to agree. She remained silent, wanting to give Astrid the chance to answer the question in her own time.  
  
“Not really, Ma’am,” Astrid said, eventually.  
  
“Not really?” Kimberly echoed.  
  
The silence stretched again.  
  
“Sometimes at school, I suppose, Ma’am,” she said carefully. “Group activities and the like.” She paused for a moment, and then continued. “Sports.”  
  
That was an awfully innocuous answer for something that seemed to provoke such a strong reaction in the girl. On one level, Kimberly wanted to follow this line of conversation further; wanted to get to the bottom of the mystery. But that wasn’t her job. She wasn’t a counsellor; she wasn’t here to help Astrid come to terms with the things that were troubling her. Nor was she primarily here in her capacity as a researcher, much though she hoped the data they collected here would be of use in her research. No, she was here to do three things: identify Astrid’s likely stressors, figure out if there were any issues likely to severely impact her suitability for field work, and find out anything that would help the powers testers come up with ways to more effectively evaluate her powers.  
  
It was that simple.  
  
Frankly, a single one to two-hour interview was often barely enough time to achieve her actual objectives, let alone trying to do anything else.  
  
“Are you aware that Wards are generally expected to spend some time as team leader before graduating from the programme?” Kimberly asked.  
  
(It wasn’t always the case, of course. Some PRT or Protectorate branches preferred to select on the basis of aptitude rather than age. Some Wards — or their parents, on their behalf — were so unhappy with the idea that no one really wanted to force them into it. And there were other reasons why it may be considered unwise or inappropriate to put specific individuals into a leadership position. In short: the general policy was a guideline, rather than a hard and fast rule. A simplification, perhaps.)  
  
(But for this purpose, simple was best.)  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid said flatly.  
  
“How do you feel about that?” Kimberly asked, ensuring that her tone and demeanour was neutral.  
  
The pause that time was long enough that Kimberly started to wonder if Astrid was actually going to answer the question at all. Eventually, though, she spoke in a quiet voice.  
  
“Apprehensive, Ma’am.”  
  
“Oh?”  
  
Astrid looked down, one of the few times she’d broken eye contact during the interview so far. She was silent for another long moment. Kimberly didn’t press her for an answer. In general, she preferred to let people respond at their own pace when she could. Astrid took an audible breath and once more raised her eyes to meet Kimberly’s gaze once more.  
  
“I’m not sure I’ll be a good leader, Ma’am,” she said. After a moment, she added: “I’m not sure I know how to be a good leader.”  
  
“Why do you think that, Astrid?” Kimberly asked, gently.  
  
Astrid shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “I just do, Ma’am.”  
  
That was all she seemed to want to say on the subject, and Kimberly didn’t want to push. She would, however, definitely be mentioning this in her report to the counselling team.  
  
“That’s not an uncommon worry,” Kimberly said, striving to reassure the girl. “But there will be plenty of training.” Likely not enough, but that would hardly be a helpful thing to say right now. “And you’ll have the examples of the other team leaders to follow.” She smiled. “In any event, it’s a long way off yet, so I think it’s probably a little too soon to worry about it.”  
  
“I suppose so, Ma’am.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Vincent_ **

 

Vincent paused for a moment, searching the canteen until he spotted his friends, ensconced in one of the booths. He headed over to join them.  
  
“Hey guys,” he said affably, setting his tray down and sliding into the booth. “How’s it going?” There was a chorus of greetings. Gary, down at the far end of the booth, was apparently focused on what seemed to be an intense conversation with Olivia. He merely waved absently. Olivia didn’t respond at all. She seemed to be scribbling something down on…  
  
_Is that a napkin?_  
  
Yes; yes, it was.  
  
“Let me guess,” he said, wryly. “The science-mates got inspired again.”  
  
Vincent had been there when the two of them were introduced to each other, and he could have sworn there was practically an audible click as the two of them snapped into place. He couldn’t remember which of them started it, but it seemed like in no time flat, they’d gone from exchanging polite greetings to having an intense, passionate discussion about some shared area of interest that went all the way to a mutually satisfying conclusion that ended up spawning a whole new joint research project.  
  
Science at first sight. Or something.  
  
The prevailing wisdom among their little group of friends was that, if they weren’t actually screwing like bunnies, then it was only a matter of time until they did. But, despite the undeniable chemistry between them — no pun intended, given their respective areas of interest were in genetics and molecular biology — they insisted the only thing they made together was sweet, sweet science.  
  
Still, as long as the two of them were happy, Vincent was happy for them.  
  
(Out of nowhere, it suddenly occurred to him that he was going to miss them when he left here. He was going to miss all of the friends he’d made. Hell, he was going to miss this place, challenging though it was at times. But it couldn’t be helped. This was only a one-year internship, after all: a chance to gain a little ‘real world’ experience before going back to college and figuring out what, exactly, his major should be. He wasn’t even supposed to be spending the whole of the internship at this site. The idea, after all, was for him to gain an overview of how the PRT worked in general.)  
  
(Not to mention making those all important contacts.)  
  
(He could almost hear his mother’s voice now, telling him how the networking she did during her own internships had ultimately helped her become the respected political analyst she was today. Or his father, talking about the military contracts he’d secured through forming connections with the decision-makers.)  
  
(But there was no point in worrying about that now.)  
  
(Better to focus on the moment.)  
  
(What was it his last therapist had said? Don’t get so caught up in worrying about the future that you forget to live in the present.)  
  
(It had actually been pretty good advice.)  
  
“You know the science-mates,” Juliet said wryly, smiling at him. “I’m just surprised they managed to drag themselves away from the lab at all.  
  
She had a lovely smile, he noticed all over again, the same way he’d started doing every single time he saw it.  
  
(He tried not to think about the way he’d dismissed her looks as ‘okay-ish, but nothing special’ when he’d first met her. It was amazing how much difference actually getting to know someone could make to your perception of them.)  
  
“Like you haven’t occasionally skipped lunch when you’ve gotten caught up in something,” Vincent said, returning her smile.  
  
She drew herself up as if to protest, only to deflate, pulling a face at him. “Fine,” she said, mock-grumpily. “You might have a point there.”  
  
“I frequently do,” he said, wondering if it would be too cheesy a segue to go from that to asking her to have dinner with him sometime.  
  
(Shit. When had he ever been nervous about asking someone to dinner? Lack of confidence with girls had never been one of his problems.)  
  
But before he could say anything, the table’s other occupant — Tom, from Medical — spoke up.  
  
“Hey, Vincent, did you hear that we’re getting a new cape to test on Monday?”  
  
“I heard,” he said, trying not to show his irritation. It was undeserved, anyway. It wasn’t like Tom knew what he’d potentially just interrupted. Anyway, thinking about it, this was hardly the best time and place. But there was a party they were both planning on going to next week. “She’s a Ward, apparently,” he continued absently.  
  
“That’s right, you’ve been working with Admin and Psych, haven’t you?” Tom asked, giving him a speculative look. “Do you have any inside info you can share?”  
  
“I’m just an intern,” Vincent said, grinning wryly. “It’s not like they’re going to tell me anything too juicy.”  
  
Not that he hadn’t had to sign a non-disclosure agreement about a mile long before even they let him within sniffing distance of anything that might possibly be considered even slightly confidential. But he didn’t exactly blame them for being cautious.  
  
“What about powers?” Juliet asked eagerly. She crossed her fingers and muttered: “Please let her shoot lasers. There’s all sorts of cool stuff I could do in that case.”  
  
Juliet was an optical physicist. She’d often chattered happily to Vincent about what exactly it was she did but, honestly, it mostly went right over his head. He did like hearing her talk about it, though.  
  
“No lasers, I’m afraid,” he said. “I think she can… reshape matter? I don’t really know anything more than that, sorry.”  
  
“I wonder who’s going to end up playing Friday this time?” Olivia wondered, apparently having surfaced from her intense sciencing with Gary.  
  
“Hopefully not me,” Gary said, shaking his head. “I’ve got a lot of stuff planned for next week.”  
  
“Well it’s probably not going to be me or Olivia,” Juliet said. “Balance of probabilities, and all that. If she’s a Ward, I guess they’re probably going to be looking at the younger guys, but that still leaves a lot of options. Didn’t we just get a new batch of interns? And I swear there’s that one dude in HR who looks about fifteen.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Tom asked, looking at them with a confused expression on his face. “Friday?”  
  
“It’s a reference to some old film,” Vincent explained, taking pity on his obvious befuddlement. “It means personal assistant and general performer of menial tasks.”  
  
“The capes we test get assigned someone to ferry them from one department to another, and generally be there if they need anything,” Olivia said, a distracted expression on her face. Vincent would lay even odds that she was mostly thinking about her work.  
  
“I know that,” Tom said. “But surely it’s not as bad as all that, is it? Just taking them around and looking after them?”  
  
“It’s a bit more than that,” Juliet said. “It’s not just about making sure there’s someone to show them around. It’s all part of the testing.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Tom looked intrigued now. “You mean, like, the psych eval?”  
  
“Exactly,” Vincent said. He glanced around, and lowered his voice a little. “Part of the evaluation involves seeing how they react to being given authority over someone.”  
  
“I don’t know why you’re bothering to lower your voice,” Juliet said, grinning. “It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”  
  
“I think the psychology team are under the impression it is,” he told her.  
  
She scoffed. “Then they’ve clearly forgotten that there are a bunch of scientists running around here, and we do talk to each other. We’re perfectly capable of picking out trends in data.”  
  
“So, how does it work?” Tom asked. “They just tell the subject they’re allowed to boss the unlucky person around?”  
  
The rest of the group turned their gazes to Vincent, who was apparently expected to answer the question. He guessed he didn’t really mind. Given he was the only person here who’d spent any time working in the psychology department — albeit more as a general dogsbody than anything really important — he supposed they considered him the group’s resident expert.  
  
“It isn’t quite that blatant. Usually we tell them something along the lines of being there to take them to their appointments, answer questions, and get them anything they might need.” He shrugged. “Hence, playing Man Friday. Or Girl Friday, if that’s the case. And, just to give things a nudge, the psych department might set up a scenario in which someone bosses us around in front of them.” Selling the idea of the ‘assistant’ being someone low on the totem pole, he supposed. “Then we see if they follow that example.”  
  
“We?” Tom asked. “You’ve done this before?”  
  
“A few times,” Vincent said.  
  
“They tend to pick the good looking ones,” Juliet said, smirking at him.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, smiling back at her. It wasn’t like Juliet was the first person to call him good-looking, but somehow it meant more coming from her.  
  
“Why would that make a difference?” Tom seemed puzzled again.  
  
“If they’re looking at stress responses, seeing how the cape reacts to being around someone they find attractive, is a good start,” Gary murmured. “I know it would have stressed me out at that age.”  
  
“Really?” Vincent asked, a little surprised. “Why?”  
  
Gary had never seemed to lack for self-confidence to him. And he wasn’t a bad looking guy. Maybe he could do with dressing in something other than ratty jeans and T-shirts for bands no one but him had ever heard of, but it wasn’t like he was a lost cause.  
  
Gary shrugged a little awkwardly. “I was… kind of shy as a kid. Anyway, let’s not get side-tracked.”  
  
It was clear this wasn’t something he was comfortable discussing. At least not here. Vincent made a mental note to try to have a quiet chat with him when he had the chance. If he didn’t want to talk about it at all, that was fair enough, but on the off-chance he did… Maybe it would help to unburden himself to someone who wasn’t going to be here that much longer.  
  
(Although, Vincent supposed it wasn’t like they wouldn’t be able to keep in touch. It just… wasn’t the same as being able to hang out in person.)  
  
(And he’d never been great at keeping in touch with people after he’d moved on or moved away.)  
  
“Or maybe stress-testing is just an excuse,” Juliet said, smirking.  
  
“What do you mean?” Tom asked, frowning.  
  
She shrugged. “Maybe some of the testers just appreciate a little eye-candy.”  
  
That got a chorus of groans and disagreement. Apparently no one really wanted to consider that possibility.  
  
“That aside,” Olivia said thoughtfully. “Assuming that the psych department really do select attractive chaperones…” Vincent wondered if he should be offended by the clear scepticism in her voice. “I wonder if the psych department do that just because it’s a potential source of stress, or because they think it might tempt the cape to abuse their authority if they’re that way inclined.”  
  
Vincent blinked at her, a little startled. “That’s a little dark,” he said.  
  
“Perhaps,” Olivia said noncommittally.  
  
Juliet nudged him, grinning lopsidedly. “Hey, look on the bright side, at least we don’t test masters here. Not the ones whose powers work on humans, anyway.”  
  
“There’s a specialist facility for that, right?” Tom asked.  
  
“That’s right,” Juliet said. “No idea where it is, though.” She shrugged. “Far away from anything important, I’d guess. Just in case.”  
  
“Just in case of what?” Gary asked. “I thought the capes we test are all Wards or Protectorate members.”  
  
As far as Vincent knew, he was right about that. But he had heard a few rumours suggesting that wasn’t always the case…  
  
“Just a general precaution, I suppose,” Juliet said.  
  
That pretty much seemed to kill the conversation. At least for a few moments.  
  
“Well,” Vincent said, casting about for a way to lighten the mood. “On a completely different and somewhat lighter note…” He looking around at the group, letting his expression turn conspiratorial. “Did you hear that Dr Fisher managed to piss off the entire cleaning staff?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Now, are you sure you’re happy to do this?” Kimberly asked, not for the first time.  
  
Vincent smiled and nodded. “Yes, of course.”  
  
Kimberly always was cautious. (He reminded himself that he would have to remember to call her Dr Ross while playing escort.) Perhaps a little over-cautious, honestly. She’d always made it clear that this wasn’t an official part of his duties, and he was under no obligation to agree. But spending the day chaperoning a cape around and writing up his observations about her really wasn’t that much of a hardship, even if she did turn out to be one of the demanding ones. And he found he actually enjoyed the challenge of selling whatever scenarios the psychologists decided were necessary for their evaluation.  
  
“Very well,” she said, nodding briskly.  
  
As she gave him the rundown of the relevant details, he couldn’t help observing, somewhere in the back of him mind, that making a few cape contacts during his time here would hardly be a bad move. Even if he didn’t end up working for the PRT (or rather, if his parents had their way, running the damn thing; at least a branch of it), he couldn’t imagine that having friends in the Protectorate would serve him ill.  
  
His relationship with his parents might be a little up and down at times, but their advice about work had rarely steered him wrong.  
  
(Even if they had a somewhat less than stellar track record with their attempts to direct the rest of his life.)  
  
But he was getting ahead of himself.  
  
_Live in the present,_ he reminded himself.  
  
The only thing he needed to worry about right now was doing his job, and doing it as well as he could. Everything else would follow on from that.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

_Well,_ Vincent thought as he got his first glimpse of the girl he was going to be assisting today. _At least I don’t have to worry about being tempted to break the ‘no fraternising with the capes’ rule with this one._  
  
Not that he would really have been tempted even if she had been decent to look at. (As opposed to being built like some of the guys on his high school wrestling team.) The girl was a minor, after all, and he liked to think of himself as a decent human being. She might only be three years or so younger than him, but that was a pretty significant gap at their respective ages. (God knew he’d certainly changed a great deal between the ages of sixteen and nineteen.)  
  
He was a little amused at Astrid blushing when he called himself her personal assistant, although he obviously didn’t show it. It didn’t bother him. She was hardly the first girl who’d ever blushed at him paying attention to her. Hopefully that meant she wouldn’t find his company today too onerous.  
  
Once the pilot had left them, he turned to Astrid and smiled.  
  
“Would you like me to take your bag?” he asked.  
  
From the looks of it, she’d packed a little heavier than he would have expected, considering that she’d only be staying overnight at most, and possibly not even that. Certainly, the majority of the evaluations only seemed to take one day, even if the staff did tend to allow for two just to be on the safe side.  
  
“No. Thank you,” she said, flatly. “I’m fine.” She didn’t return his smile.  
  
“Alright, then,” he murmured, hoping that she was just shy and not hostile. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your room so you can get changed and put your things away.”  
  
It was the general policy to assign every incoming parahuman a room, whether or not they ultimately ended up staying the night. He’d asked Dr Ross about that once, curious as to why they didn’t just give them a locker. She’d explained that it wasn’t just about the parahumans having somewhere to store their things. Nor was it about just making sure there was a room available for them in case they did end up staying the night. She said it was important for them to have a space they could think of as their own if they needed it. In case it all got a bit much and they needed to retreat for a while to somewhere they could consider safe.  
  
(That was a feeling he could certainly understand. Maybe not so much these days — he’d learned how to carry his safe space with him, thanks to therapist number three or four — but definitely when he was younger.)  
  
“Thank you,” she said again, falling into step beside him.  
  
He waited to see if she would say anything further, but that was apparently it. It looked like it was going to be up to him to break the ice.  
  
“How was your flight over? Not too terrifying, I hope?”  
  
Her face actually seemed to light up, although she didn’t quite smile. “It was amazing.” Oh God. Another one of **those** lunatics. “Have you ever flown in the Merlin?” she asked.  
  
“Once,” he said, unable to suppress a shudder at the memory. “I’m afraid that was quite enough for me. But I’m glad you enjoyed it.”  
  
Juliet had persuaded him to join her and a couple of her engineer friends on a little joyride — sorry, test-flight — shortly after he started working here. It had… not been fun. He’d never liked rollercoasters, and that short, hellish flight had been like a rollercoaster on crack. Only without the constraints of mere rails. Or gravity. Or common sense. Or anything resembling a survival instinct. He was still half-convinced that invitation had been a way of hazing the new guy, but Juliet insisted it had been nothing of the sort. She certainly had been very apologetic afterwards.  
  
Apparently he’d turned quite an impressive shade of green.  
  
He could well believe it.  
  
Astrid seemed to study him thoughtfully for a few moments, but she didn’t say anything. Shrugging inwardly, he decided to play tour guide.  
  
“The building we just passed on the right is the Resnik building,” he said. “It’s where a lot of the engineers are based. And on the other side…”  
  
Fortunately, unlike the last cape he’d accompanied, Astrid actually seemed interested in hearing about the facility campus. She even asked him a couple of questions.  
  
Vincent chose to take that as a good sign.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Is everything alright?” Vincent asked, as Astrid emerged from her room.  
  
She was now wearing a set of the ugly grey fatigues the facility staff insisted on sticking all the capes in. He didn’t know why she hadn’t been allowed to keep on the jumpsuit she was wearing when she’d arrived. That was still grey, but not nearly so ugly. And at least it looked like a proper cape costume, albeit a rather dull and plain one. This outfit made her look a little like she was about to start boot camp.  
  
Maybe that was all part of the evaluation.  
  
(He knew he’d certainly feel stressed if he was expected to wear something so unflattering. Presentation was important, after all. Like his mother always said: how could he expect people to respect him if he didn’t dress like someone worthy of respect?)  
  
Or maybe the facility staff were just worried about capes inadvertently wrecking their clothing during some of the more active tests. It wasn’t like that didn’t happen every now and again, after all.  
  
He’d have to ask around, see if anyone knew.  
  
“Yes, thank you,” she said politely, closing the door behind her. “What happens now?”  
  
He started walking. “We’ll head over to Processing, where someone will take you through the relevant paperwork.”  
  
“More paperwork?” she asked dryly, giving him a sidelong glance as she walked beside him.  
  
“I’m afraid so,” he said, giving her a rueful smile. “You should have seen all the forms I had to fill out before I could start working here. I started to think that it was never going to end.”  
  
“I know that feeling,” she said after a moment, her expression softening a little. “I think I must have spent half of this week filling out forms of one sort or another.”  
  
“My sympathy,” he said, pleased that she seemed to be overcoming her shyness a little. Perhaps she wasn’t exactly a chatty Cathy, but at least it was a start. “Processing is this way,” he told her as they exited the building.  
  
He almost put a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction, but caught himself just in time. Initiating any kind of physical contact with the capes was a big no-no, especially with a minor. It had been hard for him at first — he was naturally prone to gesticulation and physical contact — and he’d slipped up a couple of times during his first time playing Friday. Fortunately, that hadn’t seemed to be a problem for the cape in question, but Dr Ross had given him such a dressing down afterwards. She hadn’t yelled, or even been especially harsh with him — he couldn’t really imagine her doing either of those things, to be honest — but she’d just seemed so disappointed.  
  
The memory of that talk had really stuck with him.  
  
Even though he’d managed not to slip up in that regard again — there had been a couple of close calls here and there, but he’d always caught himself in time — Dr Ross had reiterated the no contact rule when she’d filled him in on the specifics of this particular chaperone job. She’d also specifically warned him to avoid making sudden movements in Astrid’s vicinity. He assumed that meant she had personal space issues.  
  
(Sam, one of his friends from college, was like that. He got twitchy if someone went to so much as touch him on the arm, let alone actually sling an arm around his shoulders, or whatever. Vincent had wondered why that was, but he hadn’t really liked to ask. Anyway, he wasn’t really a close friend. More like a friend of a friend. Apropos of nothing, he wondered what Sam was doing now.)  
  
Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what Astrid’s story was, but he tried — without much success — to put that curiosity out of his head.  
  
As they walked, he played tour guide again. These days, he could do that pretty much on autopilot if he had to.  
  
“This is the Quad,” he said, indicating the tree-lined courtyard with its lawns and flowerbeds and benches. “It was basically just a concrete rectangle up until about a decade ago, but then it underwent significant renovation.” He gave Astrid a conspiratorial look. “I’ve seen the photos of what it looked like before, and this is a vast improvement, believe me.”  
  
At least the greenery and landscaping softened the starkness of the surrounding brutalist buildings somewhat. He actually rather liked the post-apocalyptic-esque ‘nature reclaiming an urban landscape’ air it gave to the place. A few coats of paint here and there, and the campus might actually be quite striking, in a cubist slash modern art kind of way.  
  
“You seem to know a lot about this place,” Astrid observed quietly.  
  
“I show people around quite a bit,” he said, shrugging. “And then there’s all the time I spend fetching coffees and lunch orders for researchers who are too busy or too important to go themselves.”  
  
That last part was actually a little bit of an exaggeration. Some of the researchers were like that, it was true, but in general they seemed to be an okay bunch. Even the few department heads he’d interacted with had mostly treated him like an actual human being. Mostly. But he was supposed to seem like he was someone Astrid could order around if she was that way inclined.  
  
(The last one certainly had been. She’d practically run him ragged demanding he fetch her this and that, even sending him back to her room for her lip gloss at one point. And then sending him back again when she said he’d brought her the wrong one. He’d started to wonder if she’d been testing him. Either way, he pitied anyone she ended up having authority over.)  
  
“Speaking of refreshments,” he said, turning to give Astrid a quizzical look. “Is there anything you’d like me to get for you? A drink, perhaps? Or something for breakfast?”  
  
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said. “I had breakfast before I set out.”  
  
“You’re sure there’s nothing I can get for you?” he said, smiling. “I am supposed to be looking after you, after all.”  
  
“I’m fine. Thank you,” she repeated, this time there with a definite chill in her voice.  
  
A little startled, he wondered what the problem was. People generally seemed to like him looking after them. But she almost seemed to be offended, and he honestly had no idea why. She hadn’t seemed to react badly when he’d told her he was supposed to take her to her appointments and get her anything she needed. Why was she irritated now?  
  
“I’m sorry if I’ve said or done something to offend you,” he said, and not all of the caution in his demeanour was feigned. She was a parahuman, after all. Not that he really thought she’d do anything to hurt him, at least not on purpose, but he knew that capes couldn’t always control their powers.  
  
“You haven’t,” she said, after a moment, and he was relieved that her voice wasn’t cold any more. She even attempted a smile, although ‘attempted’ was definitely the word for it. The expression seemed a little awkward on her face, and made her look very young. “I’m just not used to being looked after, that’s all.”  
  
Now, that was just sad. At her age, he could barely turn around without tripping over someone whose job it was to look after him in one way or another. The housekeeper, the chauffeur, the bodyguards (although they didn’t have those all the time, just sometimes, for a little while). Various tutors and teachers and coaches and instructors. And, of course, the therapists.  
  
Nevertheless, he returned Astrid’s smile. “Well, then, you might as well make the most of it. I’m at your service for the rest of your stay here, after all.” He let his smile falter a little. “Unless you’d rather have someone else show you around instead?”  
  
They always had a backup, just in case of personality clashes, or any other issues that may arise. He knew he’d feel a little slighted if she said she would rather have someone else, but he didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. If she did have some sort of issue with him, it was best that he didn’t stick around.  
  
“No, that’s alright,” she said.  
  
“Good,” he said, and his relief was absolutely genuine. (He wondered if it was petty to feel glad that this wasn’t going to be the cape who ended his perfect record of seeing all these escort jobs through to the end.) “Then, Processing is just over here…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

While Astrid was filling out her intake paperwork under the watchful eye of a helpful administrative assistant in Processing, Vincent took the opportunity to step outside for a few moments to call Dr Ross. She liked to get his first impressions of his boss-for-the-day while they were still fresh in his mind. It didn’t take long.  
  
“I’m not sure why she reacted like that,” he said, feeling like he needed to defend himself, even though Dr Ross hadn’t uttered a word of criticism. “I don’t think I said anything out of the ordinary.”  
  
“It’s not your fault, Vincent,” Dr Ross said, her tone reassuring. He wondered idly if she really meant that, or if she was just handling him, the way she handled the capes she evaluated. On reflection, he thought she meant it. (At least, that’s what he chose to believe. And he would continue to believe that until and unless she gave him a reason to believe otherwise.) “You can’t always predict what might cause a negative reaction. But in this case, it sounds like you managed to smooth things over well, and everything is on track.” He could hear the smile in her voice as she added: “So, no harm done. Alright?”  
  
“Alright, Dr Ross,” he said. “Thank you.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

It didn’t actually take that long for Astrid to finish with the bureaucratic I-dotting and T-crossing, after which the administrative assistant returned her to the reception, where Vincent was waiting on one of the uncomfortable chairs, composing a text to Juliet. He’d decided that sending a text casually raising the idea of dinner would be a good way to start off that particular conversation. If only he could figure out the right words to use.  
  
(Dammit. This was ridiculous. It was just dinner. They were already friends, and he knew she found him attractive. What was he stressing for?)  
  
(Maybe it was because they were friends.)  
  
(Or maybe he was just overthinking this.)  
  
He read the latest version of the text he’d written, erased and rewritten about a million times already, dithered for a moment and then hit ‘send,’ shoving his phone into his pocket and getting to his feet.  
  
“Ready for the next stop?” he asked Astrid as she drew near.  
  
“What is the next stop?” she asked, cautiously. “Am I going to see the psychologist now?”  
  
“Not quite yet,” he said. “First, you have to have the sensors fitted.” He frowned briefly. “You have been told about the sensors, right?”  
  
Someone at her home PRT branch was supposed have given her an overview of what to expect, but they weren’t always as on the ball as they should be. It should also have come up in the paperwork she’d just completed, but it was amazing how many people simply didn’t take in all the relevant details.  
  
Much to his relief, though, Astrid nodded.  
  
“Wireless ECG and EEG electrodes,” she said, proving that she’d either actually read through the paperwork, or been interested enough to ask questions.  
  
“That’s right,” he said, glad that she didn’t seem averse to the idea. “If you’ll follow me, it’s just this way.”  
  
He led her up the stairs and along the corridor to the sensor placement suite, where he left her in the capable hands of one of the technicians. Once she’d disappeared from view, he collected his earbud from one of the other technicians and carefully fixed it in place. He hated wearing the things, but then he’d always preferred over-ear headphones to the in-ear type. It wasn’t too uncomfortable, though. Anyway, it was a mandatory precaution. After making sure everything was in working order, he settled in to wait for Astrid.  
  
The waiting room chairs here were even worse than the ones in reception. At least those ones had had some padding. These ones, though, were those awful plastic bucket seats that seemed purposefully designed to give him backache. On reflection, he decided to stand.  
  
He checked his phone, but Juliet hadn’t yet replied to his text. She was probably still asleep. Or busy in the lab. Or reading papers. Or she just hadn’t noticed her text alert. (Or she was trying to think of a way to politely turn him down. Or she was just planning on ignoring it and hoping he’d never mention it again. Or… He really was being ridiculous. If she wasn’t interested, she’d let him know, and they’d simply continue being friends.)  
  
(Wouldn’t they?)  
  
To distract himself, he thought about the evaluation procedure. Specifically, about the sensors. Some people were reluctant to wear the devices, and he couldn’t honestly say that he blamed them. He wouldn’t be particularly comfortable with the idea of having someone monitoring his heart rate, skin conductivity and brain activity at all times. Still, it was a standard part of the new cape evaluation. Although, if one of them absolutely refused to be monitored that way, what could the facility staff really do about it? They couldn’t exactly make the cape agree. In that case, he supposed they’d just have to carry out the evaluation without the sensor data. He made a mental note to ask if anyone had actually ever refused before. He was genuinely curious about the answer to that question.  
  
When Astrid was ready, he led her over to Psychology. She seemed a little tense to his eyes, and he wondered what the sensors were telling the assessors right now.  
  
“Vincent?” she said, completely out of the blue. “You said you could answer questions, right?”  
  
“That’s right,” he said. “What would you like to know?”  
  
“Do you know the specifics of what the testing will involve? No one I’ve asked so far has been able to tell me the details.” A flicker of something that looked like unease passed over her face. “I haven’t even been given a schedule.” She managed a sort-of smile, but it seemed a little troubled. “For all I know, I could be running late right now.”  
  
“Well, I can tell you that right now that you’re not running late,” he said, aiming for a reassuring tone. She seemed to relax a tiny bit, so he must have succeeded. “Your appointment’s scheduled for seven-fifteen, and it’s only just gone seven now, so if anything, we’re probably going to be a few minutes early.”  
  
Not for the first time, he cursed the fact that the testing always had such an early start. Was it really necessary? Surely it would be better to start at a more reasonable hour and spread it out a bit. Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to him. And that really was unfortunate, because he definitely wasn’t a morning person.  
  
“As for the rest of it…” He thought for a moment how best to answer her question. “I’m afraid I don’t know the specifics of the tests themselves.” Powers varied so much from one cape to another that, of necessity, the tests themselves were often completely different every single time. “However,” he continued. “I can tell you that your psychological evaluation will probably last somewhere between one to two hours, after which you’ll have a medical examination. I think Medical also carry out some physical tests as well, but I don’t really know anything about those. The rest of the day will probably be taken up with the power assessment.” He grinned. “Although I assume at some point during that you’ll get to break for lunch. And dinner, if you’re here long enough.”  
  
“I should certainly hope so,” she murmured, and she seemed like she might actually be a little concerned about that.  
  
“Don’t worry, Astrid, they’re not going to starve you,” he assured her, laughing a little, expecting her to join in with his amusement at the absurdity of it. She didn’t. Instead, she just gave him a wary and somewhat odd look. He was starting to think that Astrid might be a little… strange. “Anyway,” he said, pushing aside the awkwardness as best as he could. “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”  
  
“That’s alright,” she said. “Thank you for the information.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Anyway, this is the Psychology department…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Juliet didn’t reply to his text while he was waiting for Astrid’s psychological evaluation to be over. He thought about texting her again, but dismissed the idea almost before it even fully formed. There wasn’t any work he could use to distract himself — he had been freed from all his other duties for the day (and possibly tomorrow as well, depending) so he could be available in case Astrid needed anything. He checked his e-mail and social media, idly surfed the internet for a while, and then read for a while.  
  
He absolutely did not keep checking his phone compulsively.  
  
Well.  
  
Maybe just a little bit.  
  
All in all, he was glad to get the call from Dr Ross telling him that his services were needed. At least it was something to occupy him for a little while. He was pleasantly surprised when Astrid made a point of telling him that her coffee was good after Dr Ross’ little performance. Not that she really seemed to be the complaining type, from the little he’d seen of her, but it would have been easy for her to simply say nothing.  
  
Maybe he hadn’t managed to irrevocably offend her after all.  
  
He thought she seemed a little subdued when she emerged from Dr Ross’ office, but it was honestly hard to tell with her. When he gently asked her how it had gone, the only thing she said was:  
  
“Fine.”  
  
Vincent judged that it was best not to press her further on the subject.  
  
“Do you need anything?” he asked solicitously as he led her over to Medical.  
  
“I’m…” she started to say, but then she stopped and looked at him. “I could do with some water, actually.”  
  
“Not a problem,” he said cheerfully. “Still or sparkling?”  
  
“Still, I guess,” she replied, shrugging. “Although tap water is fine.”  
  
“There’s a water cooler in the medical department reception,” he said. “And a vending machine. Those between them should have you covered.”  
  
“The water cooler will be fine,” she said. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he replied.  
  
When they entered the reception, she glanced around and made a beeline for the water cooler before he could so much as offer to fetch the water for her. He supposed she must have been thirsty. Afterwards, she seemed to hesitate for a moment, a strange, almost distant expression on her face, before throwing the paper cup into the recycle bin and turning back to face him. He wondered what that was about.  
  
“Alright,” she said quietly. “Where do we go from here?”  
  
“It’s right this way.”  
  
He absently noted that the researcher who collected Astrid from him had lovely eyes. And, unless he was very much mistaken — but he didn’t think he was — they seemed to linger a little on him. Ordinarily, he might have flirted with the woman a little, but even if Astrid hadn’t been there, he was honestly a little too distracted wondering if Juliet was actually going to reply to his text to even really think about it.  
  
He received a few text messages while he was waiting for Medical to finish whatever it was they were doing with Astrid, but none of them were from Juliet. And he absolutely didn’t think about texting her again, just in case. Okay, maybe the thought did cross his mind once or twice. But he wasn’t going to do it, because that would be ridiculous.  
  
(Apropos of nothing, he remembered one of his friends from home — not his current home, but the one before the one before that — asking him for dating advice. Caitlin had been her name, and she’d been desperately in love with a girl in their year at school. ‘Desperately’ was exactly how she’d described it. Which, honestly, seemed a tad overdramatic to him, but he’d decided against telling her that. The object of that desperate love hadn’t really been anything special, in his estimation, but Caitlin was his friend. So he’d kept his thoughts to himself and done his level best to help her get her girl.)  
  
(He remembered one incident in particular. It was after Caitlin and her crush had started spending time together but before Caitlin had actually gotten around to asking her out. Caitlin had texted the girl to invite her to the movies — a little corny, perhaps, but sometimes the classics were the best — and hadn’t had a reply. At various points throughout that day, he’d had to talk Caitlin out of first texting, then calling, and finally physically going over to the girl’s house to confess her feelings. But that had all worked out well in the end. It turned out that Caitlin’s crush had just been busy. She eventually got around to replying and the two of them had ended up dating for a while. They were still together when Vincent’s family moved and he had to change schools. Although they weren’t together any more, the two of them were still Facebook friends, and they seemed to be in regular contact offline as well. So it couldn’t have ended too badly.)  
  
(Anyway, that was ancient history, and it had absolutely nothing to do with his situation. He wasn’t ‘desperately’ anything, let alone in love. He just liked Juliet, that was all.)  
  
(And she had a really lovely smile.)  
  
The medical evaluation seemed to go on for a while. Midday approached, and then receded again. As it neared two o’ clock, Dr Ross got in touch to ask him to take Astrid to lunch when Dr Mackenzie’s team released her.  
  
“Which should hopefully be sometime soon,” she said.  
  
“Of course, Dr Ross,” he agreed. “Same choice as usual?”  
  
Unless there was a good reason not to, it was customary to ask the cape being tested if they wanted to eat in one of the campus canteens, or in the private lunchroom that had been set aside for them.  
  
“That’s right,” she replied. “If you could aim to get Astrid over to Kieran in the Garage for around three, that should allow her to have a good forty-five minutes for lunch.” There was a note of amusement in her voice as she continued: “He seems to have quite a few tests planned. I think allowing her the chance to properly rest and fortify herself beforehand can only be a good thing.”  
  
“I understand, Dr Ross. Will they be expecting me at the motor pool?” In theory, a vehicle should have been booked for him, but in his experience, it was better to double-check these things.  
  
“They will,” she confirmed, and he relaxed a little. “Thank you, Vincent. Goodbye for now.”  
  
“Goodbye, Dr Ross.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Astrid hesitated when Vincent asked her where she wanted to have her lunch. He waited patiently, not wanting to rush her.  
  
“Actually,” she said, giving him a cautious look. “Do you think I’d be able to have lunch in the Quad?”  
  
“You want to eat outside?” he asked, surprised. In his opinion, it was a little early in the year for that, especially with the chill breeze rolling in off the water. But if that was what she wanted… “Well, that shouldn’t be a problem. The main campus canteen is just off the Quad, so we won’t have to carry the food all that far.”  
  
He supposed he could cope with being a little cold for a while. At least the Quad was fairly well sheltered from the wind. Belatedly, he wondered if he should have checked with Dr Ross first, but it was too late now. Anyway if she’d had a problem, she would have let him know via the earbud. It wasn’t like she wasn’t watching and listening to them right now, after all.  
  
“That sounds good, thank you,” Astrid said. “There are a couple of things I want to retrieve from my room first, though.”  
  
“Of course,” he said, equably. “It’s this way.”  
  
But she was already moving, and in the right direction.  
  
“I remember how to get there,” she said, and she actually seemed amused. “This campus layout isn’t that complicated.”  
  
He supposed it wasn’t, at that, but it could still be difficult to navigate if you weren’t familiar with some of its little quirks and idiosyncrasies. And it wasn’t helped by the fact that many of the buildings looked the same.  
  
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, smiling. “Like I said, I’m used to showing people around. It’s something of a novelty to find someone who actually pays attention.” That was maybe a slight exaggeration, but he figured a little flattery wouldn’t hurt.  
  
“It’s good practice to maintain situational awareness,” she responded absently, and he would have stared at her in confusion if he hadn’t had so much practice at controlling his expression.  
  
“I suppose it is,” he agreed, for want of anything better to say. She really was a strange one. Still, at least she seemed to be speaking to him a little more now. That was something. Maybe that meant they’d actually be able to graduate to having an actual conversation over lunch.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Astrid emerged from her room carrying her bag, although he thought it looked a little less full than it had been when she’d dropped it off. (Juliet still hadn’t texted back. Not that he’d really checked.)  
  
“All set?” Vincent asked.  
  
“Yes, thank you,” she replied. She was much politer then he remembered being at that age, he noted. “Is the food here decent?” she asked, as they made their way towards the canteen.  
  
“I think it is,” he said. “I mean, some days are better than others, but in general it’s not bad. As well as the main canteen, there are a couple of smaller cafés scattered around the campus. And there are hot food vending machines here and there, but I can’t in good conscience recommend those.” He pulled a face at the memory.  
  
“Duly noted,” she said, and she actually smiled in a way that didn’t seem awkward. “The food in the Brockton Bay PRT staff canteen is actually pretty good, although the menu is a little limited.”  
  
“Do you eat there a lot?” he asked, genuinely curious. He was always interested in hearing about what it was like being a Ward or Protectorate cape. Sure, they did those ‘day in the life’ articles and TV shows every once in a while, but those weren’t the same as hearing it straight from the horse’s mouth. So to speak.  
  
Her smile faltered, and he had no earthly idea why.  
  
“A fair amount,” she said.  
  
He presumed that meant she’d been spending a lot of time in the PRT HQ. They wouldn’t have sent her out on patrol before she had her evaluation — unless they’d performed an in-house evaluation, he supposed — but there was undoubtedly training. Maybe it hadn’t been going so well? Or perhaps she’d been spending a lot of time in the PRT HQ for some other reason. Like… trouble at home, perhaps? Whatever the reason, it seemed to be a sensitive subject. It was probably best not to enquire further. Luckily, there was a ready made distraction at hand.  
  
“Here we are,” he said. “The main canteen.” It wasn’t massively busy at the moment, but then most people around here seemed to prefer to take their lunch break at some point between twelve and two, work permitting. He paused a little way into the room to point out the various options. “There’s the salad bar and the baked potatoes.” Those were always popular, not least because they were self-serve, and so tended to be one of the quicker options during busy periods. “And that’s the hot food counter. There are usually three or four different mains, with a variety of side-dishes.” Some of those changed on a daily basis, while others were always on the menu. “There’s a sandwich bar at the far end, and there are also pre-packaged sandwiches in the chill cabinet over there. Plus, there are drinks and snacks galore.” He turned back to Astrid, raising his eyebrows. “Does any of that sound good?”  
  
She glanced around. “I want to take a look before I decide,” she said. “If you know what you want, though, why don’t you get in line? I can meet you at the other side of the till.”  
  
He hesitated a moment. He wasn’t really supposed to leave her on her own, aside from in her room. But she wouldn’t exactly be far away, and he’d be able to see her. Surely it couldn’t do any harm? Besides, this was the most confident she’d seemed since he’d met her this morning. That had to be a good sign. Why risk upsetting her again if he didn’t have to? Anyway, the continued silence in his earbud told him that this was his call.  
  
(Assuming, of course, that Dr Ross was actually listening in. He was never quite sure exactly how closely they were monitored during the breaks. When he’d tried asking about it, all Dr Ross would tell him was that he was safe at all times. Which hadn’t really been an answer, but she didn’t seem inclined to fill him in on the details.)  
  
“Alright,” he said, nodding. He reached into the pocket of his bag and pulled out a folded paper rectangle. “Here’s your lunch voucher. It should easily be enough to cover a decent meal at the prices they charge here.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the voucher and studying it briefly before tucking it into one of the pockets of her fatigues. “I’ll see you soon.”  
  
She nodded at him and went to explore her options. He got in line at the hot food counter. If they were going to be eating outside, then he was definitely going to need the warmth. Not for the first time, he bemoaned the face that Northeast was practically in Canada. And it was on an island in a lake. No wonder it got a bit nippy. He really wasn’t fond of the cold. Not at all.  
  
In fact, he was going to have to get a hot drink as well.  
  
He gave in to the urge to check his phone while he was waiting in line. Still no text from Juliet. He did manage to resist the impulse to see if she was in the canteen, though. After all, it wasn’t like he could go over and talk to her if she was here.  
  
He tried to put it out of his mind when Astrid approached him, carefully balancing her to-go containers one on top of the other.  
  
“I guess there is such thing as a free lunch after all,” he said, a teasing note to his voice, as they made their way out to the Quad.  
  
“I guess so,” she said, after a moment. “Although I don’t know that it really counts as free after all that poking and prodding in Medical,” she added, in a dry tone. “It certainly feels like I’ve fucking earned it.”  
  
Vincent thought that was probably meant to be a joke. But maybe one with a certain amount of truth at the root of it. If she did have personal space issues, he couldn’t imagine a medical examination would be a comfortable experience.  
  
“I imagine it would,” he said sympathetically. “But hopefully the actual power tests will be a bit more fun.”  
  
“I’m looking forward to them,” she said, perking up noticeably. “It’ll be good to have the chance to actually stretch myself. And I’m hoping that the testers will be able to figure out more things I can do.”  
  
From what he understood, that wasn’t exactly an uncommon sentiment among the capes they tested.  
  
“I’m sure they will,” he said. “That’s what they’re here for, after all.” He glanced around the Quad. “Is there anywhere in particular you’d like to sit?”  
  
“How about over here?” she said, not waiting for him to reply before setting off in the direction of a spot she’d clearly already picked out. A little bemused, he followed along in her wake. While he still wouldn’t call her especially bossy or demanding, somewhere along the way she seemed to have become comfortable with taking the lead. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that. Undoubtedly Dr Ross would find it interesting, though.  
  
“It looks fine to me,” he said, when she came to a halt in front of one of the picnic table and gave him a quizzical look. She nodded and sat down. He followed suit. As far as he could tell, there was nothing in particular to recommend this spot over any of the others, but if she preferred it, then he didn’t have any objections. He supposed they had a pretty good view of the Quad from here, though. Maybe she just liked people-watching.  
  
She pulled a book out of her bag and set it down on the table next to her. He couldn’t quite make out the title from this angle, but it looked like a textbook of some kind. He almost raised his eyebrows at that. What kind of kid brought a school textbook with her to her powers evaluation? She started to reach for it, but then apparently changed her mind, turning her attention to her lunch instead. Vincent shrugged mentally and made a start on his own lunch.  
  
Silence fell for a few moments as they ate. Or, in Astrid’s case, practically devoured her meal like a starving girl. Vincent supposed this was a relatively late lunchtime. He was actually feeling quite hungry himself, although he at least managed to hang onto his table manners. He came very close to making some crack about being reasonably sure that no one was going to try to take Astrid’s food away from her, but decided to hold his tongue. He wasn’t sure how she’d take the joke, after all, and he really didn’t want to make her feel self-conscious or uncomfortable.  
  
“What did you have in the end?” he asked, when he simply couldn’t sit there in silence any longer.  
  
He was unfathomably relieved that she actually took the time to chew and swallow her current mouthful of food before answering him. Not that her table manners were really that bad — he’d certainly seen worse — but she did seem to be very… single-minded… about eating. He was almost surprised that she even answered him at all.  
  
“Ham and mushroom omelette, salad, fruit, orange juice and a coffee,” she said. She started to raise her plastic knife and fork again, but paused and asked: “How about you?”  
  
“Lasagne, apple pie, water and a coffee,” he replied. “How’s yours?”  
  
“Good so far, thanks,” she said, and smiled. “Although, honestly, I’m too hungry to care all that much about the quality as long as it’s edible. Which, fortunately, it is. How about yours?”  
  
“Can’t complain,” he said, smiling back at her. “How come you’re so hungry?”  
  
“I usually have lunch earlier than this, and breakfast was pretty fucking long ago,” she said between bites of food. “I’ve been up since four.”  
  
“Four?” he asked, puzzled. “Why so early? I didn’t think it took that long to get here by Merlin.”  
  
“Twenty to thirty minutes,” she said. “But Vargas was scheduled to pick me up at six, and I needed to make sure I had enough time to hit the gym, shower, have breakfast and be ready with time to spare. Just in case.”  
  
And he’d thought he’d had it bad having to get up in time to meet her at the landing pad at six-thirty.  
  
“That sounds horrific,” he said, shaking his head. Also a tad excessive, maybe, but he wasn’t planning on saying that out loud. Just like he wasn’t planning on commenting on the fact that she really must have been feeling more relaxed if she was now comfortable swearing around him. “No wonder you have an appetite.” He studied her thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, you could have asked me to bring you something earlier,” he said, only a little chidingly. “That’s kind my of job, after all.”  
  
“I didn’t really have the chance earlier. It’s been kind of a busy morning.”  
  
“You could have asked for a break,” he pointed out.  
  
She looked at him like he’d just started speaking in tongues, and it took her a moment or two to respond. “I didn’t need a break,” she said firmly. “Anyway, I’m having one now.”  
  
There was an air of finality about her words that said this wasn’t something she wanted to discuss further. He was very tempted to pursue it anyway, but he resisted the urge. He was going to bring it up with Dr Ross later, though. If nothing else, there was something he suddenly wanted to check. The evaluation made for a pretty long and intense day, there was no doubt, but he’d always assumed that the capes were allowed to take breaks if they needed to. Was that not the case? Or had Astrid just not realised she could do that? Surely someone would have explained it to her, though. Wouldn’t they?  
  
It was definitely something he wanted to follow up on.  
  
While he was lost in thought, Astrid had finished off her omelette and moved onto her salad. She glanced over at him, an expression of curiosity on her face.  
  
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” she asked.  
  
He smiled. “Not at all. What would you like to know?”  
  
“Have you worked here long?”  
  
“Almost four months now,” he said, trying not to think about the fact that he would be moving on to another site in the not-too-distant future.  
  
“And, if it’s not too intrusive, what is it that you do?” Her lips quirked in a small, wry smile. “Assuming that you’re not actually a full-time cape-herder.”  
  
He laughed, pleased she seemed to have a sense of humour about the whole thing. “No, I do other things as well. I’m an intern, which means I do pretty much whatever needs doing that no one above me wants to do themselves. And pretty much everyone here is above me, so…” Technically true, if a little exaggerated. He shrugged languidly. “I’ve mostly been bouncing back and forth between Admin and Psych. Some days I’m filing, others I’m fetching coffee and lunch orders. Or sorting out the stationary cupboard. Or learning how the budget works. Or helping balance the room-booking schedule.” He nodded at her. “Or herding capes. It honestly varies a lot from day to day.”  
  
“Do you enjoy it?” she asked, frowning a little.  
  
“Yes, largely,” he said, not even having to think about it. “I mean, I won’t lie, sometimes I do get a bit tired of, say, sorting out the stationary cupboard. But I’ve learned a lot about how this place works. Which is kind of the point of the internship in the first place. So, all in all I’d say it’s a useful experience.”  
  
“Are you planning on joining the PRT full time?” she asked.  
  
He sighed. “I’m not certain yet. It’s definitely  a possibility.” He shrugged. “But I need to go back and finish my college degree when the internship is over, so I have some time to decide.”  
  
And this was about as far as he wanted to go with this particular line of conversation. Fortunately, Astrid didn’t seem inclined to press him for details, merely nodding in acknowledgement of his answer and setting aside her empty salad container. He studied her surreptitiously as she drank her coffee, considering his options. There weren’t really any hard and fast guidelines for how he was supposed to interact with the capes, other than making it clear that they technically had authority over him, and trying to encourage them to chat with him if they were amenable. Other than that, he pretty much had free rein.  
  
If Astrid was comfortable enough to ask questions of him, maybe that meant he could try asking some of her in turn.  
  
“Do you mind if I ask you a question?” he asked.  
  
She didn’t tense up, which was good, but she did look a little wary, which wasn’t.  
  
“You can ask,” she said, her tone neutral. “I can’t promise I’ll answer, though.”  
  
“That sounds fair enough to me,” he said. “I was just wondering: how long have you been a Ward?”  
  
“One week exactly,” she said.  
  
He chose to take the fact that she’d answered as a good sign, and decided to risk another question.  
  
“How are you finding it so far?”  
  
She frowned, but it looked more like a thoughtful expression than an annoyed one. “It’s a little too soon to tell,” she said slowly. “It’s all kind of new to me. And it mostly seems to be paperwork, meetings and training at the moment.”  
  
“What about your team mates?”  
  
“They’re okay,” she said. She seemed a little uncomfortable with the question. He wondered if that meant she was having issues with some of her fellow Wards. “I don’t really know them all that well yet.”  
  
She pulled an orange out of her bag as she spoke, but instead of peeling it, she just rested it on the palm of her hand and the the peel fell apart in two neat halves, seemingly of its own accord. He watched, fascinated, as the orange itself then fell apart into segments. She smiled to herself.  
  
He wasn’t sure if he should comment, or just ignore it. In the end, he decided to go with the former.  
  
“Useful little trick,” he said.  
  
“It’s a bit lazy, I guess,” she said, a little ruefully. “It’s good practice, though.” Her smile broadened. “And it really speeds up cooking prep.”  
  
“I can imagine,” he said, a little surprised. He’d never really heard a cape talk about using their powers to help with cooking before. Although he supposed there must be some. There were capes who made a living using their powers in ways other than fighting, after all. But when he’d heard ‘matter reshaping,’ the first thing that came to mind hadn’t been possible domestic applications.  
  
His phone buzzed suddenly, making him start a little. He automatically started to reach for it, and then stopped.  
  
“Do you mind if I check my phone?” he asked.  
  
Astrid looked a little startled. “Go ahead,” she said. Her was peripherally aware of her studying him as he retrieved it. “You don’t need my permission, you know,” she added, a moment later.  
  
But asking for it certainly went a long way towards making the cape feel like they were in charge. Which was, after all, part of the point of this exercise.  
  
“It seemed like the polite thing to do,” he said.  
  
“Then, while you’re doing that, I’m going to quickly look something over, if you don’t think it’s too rude,” she said, setting the orange down on a napkin and opening her book.  
  
“Not at all,” he said. But then his attention was focused solely on his phone, because Juliet had **finally** replied to his text. And her answer was…  
  
’Sure, dinner sounds great. Want to meet up tonight when you’re done playing eye-candy? We can discuss it then.’  
  
For a moment, he felt a rush of pure happiness. For a moment. But then the doubts and the worries set in. Discuss? What was there to discuss? They could make the arrangements over text, couldn’t they? Not that he objected to meeting up with her later, of course. He’d quite like it, in fact.  
  
So what was he waiting for?  
  
With only a few false-starts, he texted back: ’Sounds like a plan. Not sure what time I’ll be done, though. Shall I text you when I’m ready? If it’s too late, we can always meet tomorrow.’  
  
The reply came back a lifetime later. Okay, maybe it was only a minute or two, but it felt like a lifetime.  
  
’I’m going to be staying late here anyway. No rest for the wicked and all that. ;) Or for the people who need to finish their presentation for this week’s lab meeting, at any rate.’  
  
Shortly after that, he received the follow-up message: ’Trust me: you’d be doing me a favour.’  
  
He grinned, able to hear the precise dry tone of voice in which she would have spoken the words, if this was a conversation and not a text exchange.  
  
‘In which case, I’ll text you when I’m done. Good luck with your presentation.’  
  
‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘I look forward to hearing from you.’  
  
He hesitated for a moment and then texted: ‘I look forward to seeing you.’  
  
There was no reply. With a start, he realised that he was just sitting there staring at his phone. He glanced over at Astrid, but her attention still seemed to be on her textbook. Still, he probably should be focusing on the cape he was supposed to be looking after, rather than on his love life. It was honestly a little embarrassing. He didn’t usually do this.  
  
Still, he wouldn’t have any distractions for the rest of the day. He went to put his phone back in his pocket, but managed to fumble it so that it slipped out and fell on the floor. Naturally, rather than landing on the grass, it smacked right into the concrete. As he bent to retrieve it, he couldn’t help wincing in anticipation. Sure enough, there was a nasty crack right across the screen.  
  
“Dammit!” he exclaimed quietly.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Astrid asked.  
  
He sighed. “I broke my phone.” He held it up briefly to show her before poking gently at the screen. Maybe there was a chance it was still useable; at least until he could get a replacement… But probably not. Still, at least he’d backed up the important things like his contacts. So he’d be able to look up Juliet’s number at least.  
  
“Do you want me to see if I can fix it?” Astrid asked him.  
  
He blinked at her. “You can do that?”  
  
“Potentially,” she said, cautiously. “Probably, if it’s just the screen. Probably not, if it’s anything else. Not yet, anyway. But I can take a look if you like.”  
  
He hesitated for a moment. He wasn’t sure whether Dr Ross would approve of him encouraging Astrid to use her power outside the evaluation. But she wasn’t telling him no, so…  
  
“Yes, please,” he said, not even having to pretend to sound grateful. “I’d really appreciate that.”  
  
He handed it over, watching as her gaze turned distant.  
  
“It is just the screen,” she said. “I’m reasonably sure I can fix it. Although I warn you that I haven’t tried this before, so I can’t guarantee it will work. Do you want me to try?”  
  
On the one hand, he was pretty sure it would void his warranty if the company ever found out he’d let a cape mess around with it. On the other hand, if Astrid could fix it, he’d have a working phone. Frankly, the risk of voiding the warranty was easily worth not having to go through the hassle of getting a replacement.  
  
“Yes, please,” he said.  
  
“Okay.” Slowly, almost infinitesimally, the crack filled in and faded before his eyes until the phone looked as good as new. “All done,” Astrid said, handing it back. “I could have done it quicker, but I wanted to make absolutely sure I did it right. This is the first time I’ve tried this with a touchscreen phone, and it’s somewhat fiddlier.”  
  
He studied the screen for a moment, searching for any sign of the previous damage. There was nothing to be seen. Even the scuffs and scratches the case had picked up over the past few months were gone. He messed around with the phone for a few moments, and it seemed to be working fine.  
  
“Thank you,” he said, meeting Astrid’s eyes and giving her a heartfelt smile. “I owe you for this.”  
  
“You don’t really,” she muttered, flushing and looking a little awkward. “It wasn’t that hard.”  
  
“Nevertheless, I appreciate it,” he said. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” she replied.  
  
He put his phone away — carefully, this time — and studied Astrid curiously.  
  
“Do you mind if I ask a bit of a personal question?” he asked.  
  
“You can ask,” she said, sounding extremely wary.  
  
“What’s it like, having a power? What does it feel like?”  
  
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he heard Dr Ross’ voice in his ear. “Please avoid any further questions of that nature. You know they’re off-limits. We’re going to have to discuss this later, but in the meanwhile, please proceed cautiously.”  
  
Shit. She was right: he did know better. He’d just got caught up in the moment and spoken without thinking.  
  
Astrid looked startled at first, and then almost… upset? Angry? It was hard to tell. And then she took a breath, and her expression stabilised into a sort of smile, but her eyes seemed sad. Even without Kimberly’s rebuke, he would have been regretting the question. He was on the very brink of taking it back anyway, but then she actually answered.  
  
“Complicated. Kind of awesome.” She sighed and looked away. “Really fucking hard to explain.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he ventured, after a moment, wondering how horrible a mistake he’d just made. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked.”  
  
“It’s okay.” She shrugged and gave him a small, slightly wry smile. “I did say you could. Anyway, I didn’t have to answer.”  
  
He couldn’t help wondering why she had.  
  
He just hoped he hadn’t upset her too much.  
  
And he hoped Dr Ross wasn’t too displeased with him.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kimberly** _

 

“You’ve talked previously about how it feels physically to use your power,” Kimberly said. “If you don’t mind me asking, is there anything you can tell me about how it feels emotionally?”  
  
This was always one of the more delicate parts of the evaluation. Kimberly knew she had to tread carefully. It was a subject she would only consider raising if she judged she’d managed to establish a sufficient rapport with the parahuman in question. It was a useful question, but very definitely a highly optional one.  
  
Astrid looked at Kimberly with a closed-off expression. “I’m not sure how to answer that, Ma’am,” she said, after a short pause.  
  
Kimberly didn’t think would be productive to point out that Astrid was the one who’d raised that particular subject in the first place. And yet all she’d actually talked about were the physical aspects of how it felt to use her power. The idea clearly meant something to her, even though it was something that she was clearly reluctant to talk about.  
  
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Astrid,” Kimberly said, her voice gentle. All data was useful, it was true, but that didn’t mean it was worth seriously distressing her to get it. The emotions associated with power use were often a sensitive subject with parahumans; second only to the topic of their trigger event.  
  
Astrid went still. “I’m not being uncooperative, Ma’am,” she said, cautiously. “I just don’t quite know how to answer the question.” She studied Kimberly for a moment. “May I ask why you want to know?”  
  
Kimberly considered how best to phrase her response.  
  
“If we have a better understanding of what it’s like for you to use your power, then we can better help you figure out how to use it safely and effectively. That’s all.”  
  
“I understand, Ma’am,” she said quietly. She was quiet for a moment. “It… I…” She paused. “I apologise, Ma’am,” she said. “It’s difficult to put it into words.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Kimberly reassured her. “Take all the time you need. Say as much or as little as you want. And remember, you don’t have to say anything at all if you don’t want to. Just let me know, and we’ll move onto something else.”  
  
“It’s alright, Ma’am,” she said. “I just need a moment to put my thoughts in order.” She took a deep breath. “It feels… Using my power is calming. And it… It feels good. To use it. Especially using it to… to change something, rather than just to study it.”  
  
That was interesting, but not especially uncommon. Many parahumans — at least, many of the ones who would answer the question one way or the other — had reported gaining some form of enjoyment from using their abilities. But Kimberly could understand why Astrid might be reluctant to admit that.  
  
“But I have it under control, Ma’am,” Astrid continued earnestly. “Just because it feels good, that doesn’t mean I’m going to use it when it’s not… appropriate.”  
  
“I understand, Astrid, and I believe you.” Kimberly leaned forward a little, her posture open and her voice low and earnest. Even if experience made her reserve judgement when a parahuman — especially one who’d only recently triggered — claimed to have their power completely under control. “It’s alright.”  
  
She studied Astrid, who was looking at her a little uncertainly.  
  
“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Kimberly asked.  
  
“Did I say something wrong, Ma’am?” Astrid asked, her tone flat.  
  
“No, of course not,” Kimberly said. “There are no wrong answers here.” Astrid seemed unconvinced, so she continued speaking, hoping she would manage to get through to her but knowing that the message wasn’t likely to stick. You didn’t change the thought patterns of a lifetime with a single conversation, after all. “You’re not going to be in trouble for anything you tell me here.” She smiled a little. “It would be more than a little counterproductive to ask you questions and then punish you for answering them honestly, after all.”  
  
Astrid flinched.  
  
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she muttered, and then froze, looking briefly mortified before her expression went completely blank. “I’m sorry, Ma’am,” she said. “I didn’t mean to say that. Please disregard it.”  
  
“I bet you don’t need me to tell you that her stress levels are rocketing right now,” Andrew’s voice murmured in Kimberly’s ear. He sounded a little grim, and she wondered if he’d just put two and two together regarding some of Astrid’s history and come up with something in the vicinity of four. “Still nothing on the tremor sensors, though.”  
  
That was something, at least. If Astrid’s power didn’t start affecting her surroundings when she was this agitated, it was a good sign. A hopeful sign. Except… Something seemed to be moving under her sleeves, and there was a glint of reflected light at her wrists that, this time, Kimberly was certain wasn’t just her imagination.  
  
“You don’t have anything to apologise for, Astrid,” she said, keeping her voice low and soothing, and trying to move as little as possible. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”  
  
Astrid took a deep breath. The glint of metal vanished, and her sleeves lay still and undisturbed once more.  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” she said.  
  
Kimberly made some notes, just as much to give Astrid a little breathing room as anything else.  
  
“Would you like to take a short break?” she asked.  
  
“No, thank you, Ma’am. I’m fine,” Astrid replied.  
  
Kimberly leaned back in her chair, casting an eye over her notes as she considered where to guide the conversation now. Something unconnected to the subject of Astrid’s emotional state during power use, and a subject that would likely calm her down…  
  
“You mentioned earlier that you found your power helpful in cooking…”


	3. Chapter 3

**_Kieran_ **

 

Kieran tried not to get too excited, but he knew it was pretty much a lost cause. How often did he have an opportunity like this? How often did he actually get to be the one in charge of figuring out how to test the limits of a new parahuman’s power? More than that, though: how often did he come across a power whose effects actually made something approaching sense to him?  
  
There were so many parahuman abilities that just made the laws of physics curl up in a corner and cry; so many powers whose effects seemed intractable to analysis by any kind of standard means. Sure, this power undoubtedly broke the laws of physics in its own way — thermodynamics, for a start — but the important thing was that part of it might not.  
  
And that part, he might actually be able to understand.  
  
He and his team had been busy brainstorming since they got the good news, and they’d come up with so many ideas between them. There were just so many possibilities.  
  
This was going to be great!

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Kieran sang along to the radio as he checked the stores inventory, drumming on the desk with a half-eaten red liquorice twist. He nodded in satisfaction as his search got a hit.  
  
“Someone’s in a good mood,” came a voice from the doorway. He looked up to see Yasmeena, his team’s senior electrical engineer. She was leaning against the doorframe, making absolutely no attempt to hide her amusement.  
  
“Guilty as charged,” he agreed cheerfully. “If there are any favours you want to ask me, now is probably a great time to do that.”  
  
“How about a raise?” she said swiftly.  
  
“In a heartbeat, if it was up to me,” he said, sighing with genuine regret. “Alas…”  
  
Hell, he’d give raises to all his team if he could. God knew they all deserved it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple. There were boxes to be ticked; procedures to be followed. And he understood that, but it was frustrating when he saw people — good people; good engineers and scientists — lured away to the private sector by the promise of actually being paid what they were worth. Not that he blamed them, not really.  
  
Like he’d said: it was just a little frustrating.  
  
Yas looked thoughtful. “Alright, then. How about you sponsor me on my next marathon instead? I’m raising money for the Alzheimer’s Association.”  
  
“That, I can do,” he promised. “Just send me a link to your sponsorship page.”  
  
“Thanks,” she said softly.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said. He studied her for a moment, noting the tiredness in her eyes. “How’s your mom doing?”  
  
“She has her good days and her bad days. Mostly good at the moment, thankfully, but…” Yas trailed off with a sigh, leaving the rest of the sentence unspoken. Kieran still heard it loud and clear, though: it was only going to get worse.  
  
Damn.  
  
He nodded sympathetically, wishing there was something he could do other than offer good wishes. Something useful. Something helpful. Although, maybe there was one thing…  
  
“If you need to take any time off or anything, just let me know,” he said. “And don’t worry about using up your vacation time. I’m more than happy to keep it unofficial.”  
  
Yas had more than enough on her plate right now. The last thing she needed was to be worrying about her job as well.  
  
“Thanks, Kieran,” she said, after a moment. “I… I really appreciate that. I probably will have to take some time, but I don’t really know when or how much. And it might be kind of short notice. But I don’t mind using my vacation time. I mean-“  
  
“I said, don’t worry about it,” he said, firmly. “And, last I checked, I was still your boss. So that means you don’t have to worry about it. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” she said softly, smiling. “And thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he replied, feeling a little uncomfortable with the gratitude in her eyes. He hadn’t really done that much, after all. Feeling like it was way past time for a subject change, he raised his eyebrows enquiringly. “Now, did you actually want something, or did you just want to hang out and listen to me sing?”  
  
“Is that what that was?” She looked amused. “I thought you were using an angle-grinder or something.”  
  
He gave her an offended look. “That’s harsh, Yas.”  
  
Probably not entirely unfair, though, he was forced to admit to himself. Okay, maybe he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy trying every once in a while. Idly, he wondered if there were any powers out there that could give a guy perfect pitch. Or maybe a tinker device — some sort of voice box modulator that could correct for pitch differences in real time…  
  
“But not inaccurate,” Yas said, echoing his first thought and interrupting his idle musings. “Anyway,” she continued, before he could protest further. “I came to let you know we’ve finished the black boxes.”  
  
“That’s excellent!” he said, grinning broadly. “Ahead of schedule, too. Have a liquorice twist.” He grabbed the jar from his desk and held it out to her.  
  
“Thanks. I don’t mind if I do,” she said, reaching out and snagging one of the bright red sticks. “So, what are you up to at the moment?”  
  
“Requisitioning test materials,” he said. “We’ve got some stuff lying around the labs and workshops, but I want to make sure we have as wide a range of substances as I can get my hands on.” He sat up straight as a thought occurred to him. “Hey, I wonder if Curtis still has that diamond block lying around…”  
  
“He was using it as a paper-weight, last I saw,” Yas told him. She frowned. “Kieran, why is Curtis using a huge chunk of diamond as a paperweight?”  
  
“Have you asked him?”  
  
“Yes. He said just ‘Why not?’ and gave me what I think was supposed to be a mysterious smile. That or he was constipated.”  
  
“Then I’m afraid my lips are sealed,” Kieran said, giving his own attempt at a mysterious smile. He was pretty sure it didn’t make him look constipated.   
  
“Fine, be that way,” she sniffed, tossing her hair back. “I’ll just have to find out for myself.” He wouldn’t be surprised if she did at that. Yas could be very tenacious when she put her mind to it. She held the offended expression for a moment or two before giving him a curious look. “You’re really planning on putting this girl through her paces, huh?” she asked.  
  
“That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?” he replied, a little distracted by his thoughts. “We’re supposed to help her figure out what she can do with her powers. That means we have to push a little.”  
  
“Well, just don’t forget that there’s a person attached to that power.” Yas said the words lightly, and Kieran thought that she probably meant them as a joke, but he felt a little ashamed nonetheless. He had been thinking pretty much solely in terms of the power itself, wondering what **it** was capable of; what it could do. In all his excitement over finally getting something interesting to poke at, he’d neglected to take into account that they were going to be dealing with a live human being.  
  
More than that, the girl was just a kid, and one who was undoubtedly going through some pretty stressful stuff at the moment.  
  
“You’re right,” he said, feeling nervous for pretty much the first time since he got the news that he’d be heading up this particular power evaluation.  
  
“What are you looking so worried about all of a sudden?” Yas asked, eyeing him curiously.  
  
“Just thinking that I’m not really used to dealing with kids,” he said. “What if I manage to make a mess of it? What if I piss her off and she decides not to cooperate? Or, worse, what if I say something to upset her?”  
  
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Kieran,” Yas said, a little more dryly than he thought was really appropriate, considering that he was now seriously stressing out about this.  
  
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered, giving her a black look. “You’re not the one in charge. You’re not the one who’s going to be on the hook if something goes catastrophically wrong.”  
  
“Nothing’s going to go catastrophically wrong,” Yas said, and she actually rolled her eyes at him. “If it helps, just think of her as, I don’t know, a project student or something. You’ve dealt with those before, and you didn’t seem to have any problems then. Right?”  
  
“I guess,” he said dubiously. “But, as far as I know, none of those project students were parahumans.”  
  
She sighed loudly. “Look, Kieran. You’re going to be fine.”  
  
“You think so?” he asked.  
  
“I know so,” she said, firmly.  
  
Her confidence in him actually helped a little. Actually, it helped a lot, as did thinking of this girl as a project student. A… special project student. Anyway, it wasn’t like he’d never worked with parahumans before. He worked with tinkers all the time, after all. Admittedly, those were collaborations, rather than evaluations, but still. It meant this was hardly a completely new experience for him.  
  
He was probably just worrying over nothing. Of course it was fine. Northeast tested countless parahumans without issue, even teenage parahumans. The odds were on his side here. He was probably just worrying over nothing.  
  
His equilibrium restored, he smiled at Yas.  
  
“Thanks,” he said cheerfully. “I needed that.”  
  
“Anytime,” she drawled. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it. Let me know if you need anything more from us sparks.”  
  
Kieran couldn’t help thinking that ‘spark’ was especially appropriate in her case.  
  
“Will do,” he said, waving a little distractedly at her as he turned his attention back to the computer screen.  
  
 _Palladium… check. But do we still have that old pile of catalytic converters lying around…?_  
  
He was really looking forward to this.  
  
 _Roll on Monday!_

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The shrill, piercing sound seemed to drill right through Kieran’s ears and into his brain, yanking him rudely out of his dream (something about taking a history exam in his underwear, the details of which mercifully faded a little more with every second that passed) and dropping him with a thud into the merciless morning.  
  
Assuming that it was actually morning.  
  
The sunlight stabbing into his barely-open eyes would seem to suggest that it was, but the cotton wool wrapped around his thoughts would seem to suggest otherwise.  
  
What was that infernal racket?!  
  
Annoyance shoved him the rest of the way into wakefulness, and he belatedly realised that the demon screeching in his ear was actually the sound of his phone ringing. A heartbeat after that revelation, he started groping around on his bedside table, hoping that he could get his hands on the damn thing before whoever it was on the other end gave up on the call.  
  
(All the while, he wholeheartedly regretted the whimsical thought that had made him set his ringtone to that eerie, electronic warbling sound so beloved by makers of old sci-fi movies. First chance he got, he was going to change it to something a little less grating.)  
  
As it happened, though, the ringer was still going strong when he finally located the infernal device. Hitting ‘accept’ more by muscle memory than by sight, he brought it to his ear.  
  
“Mrrf?” he said, eloquently.  
  
“Hey, Bailey,” came Vargas’ unbearably perky voice. Because of course it was her. Who the hell else would be calling at such an uncivilised hour for anything other than a life-or-death situation. Who else but the person who seemed to think the ass-crack of dawn was a perfectly reasonable hour to be conscious and upright and talking?  
  
“Mrrf,” he said again, gruffly this time.  
  
“You’re heading up the powers evaluation today, right?”  
  
Okay. That got his attention.  
  
“Mrrf?” he said cautiously, forcing himself to sit up and search his scattered wits for something that vaguely resembled actual words.  
  
Vargas was already speaking though, apparently not willing to wait for him to pass through the pre-verbal stage and make it all the way to verbal.  
  
“Well, there’s something you might want to test,” she said, and there was something in her tone that sounded like excitement. That particular note in Vargas’ voice always woke him up faster than a jolt of caffeine.  
  
“Mrrf?” He cleared his throat. “I mean: What is it?” he asked, and his voice was a little rough around the edges, but he fancied it was more or less comprehensible.  
  
“I just brought Astrid in from Brockton Bay, and the two of us had an interesting conversation on the flight over. She loved the flight by the way, and the Merlin, as is only right and proper.”  
  
It took him a moment to recall that Astrid was the name of the parahuman girl whose powers he was going to be testing today.  
  
“You going to get to the point anytime soon, Jane?” he asked, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to clear the grit out of them.  
  
“Someone’s impatient,” she said, sounding amused. “Not to mention cranky.”  
  
“ **Someone** was just woken up,” he pointed out, perfectly reasonably and not at all crankily in his estimation. “And someone is hoping to be able to get back to sleep sometime soon.”  
  
“Sleep is for the weak,” Vargas said, laughing. He made an inarticulate noise of exasperation and she sighed, continuing in a businesslike tone of voice. “Fine, I’ll get to the point. Astrid took a look at the Merlin with her power on the way over, and there are a couple of things that you need to know. First of all, she could identify individual subsystems like the confoam sprayers and the cameras.”  
  
“That is interesting,” Kieran murmured, intrigued.  
  
Not entirely unexpected, perhaps, but definitely an interesting data point.  
  
The part of Astrid’s file he’d had access to — very little, really; only the parts directly relating to her power and her known uses of it so far — did mention that she appeared to be able to analyse a cellphone to some degree, but the Merlin was considerably larger and more complex than a cellphone. Even the tinker tech-derived ones that the PRT, Protectorate and Wards used.  
  
“Second of all,” Vargas continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Although her power doesn’t necessarily tell her what the thing she’s looking at actually does, once she’s scanned something she potentially retains at least some degree of knowledge of its structure. She talked about adding ‘templates’ to her ‘library’. I didn’t have the chance to ask her to elaborate on that, but it sounds intriguing, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “It does.”  
  
“Worth being woken up for?” Vargas asked slyly.  
  
“Maybe,” he said. “Although there was nothing stopping you putting this in an e-mail. Or even just waiting until a civilised hour of the day to give me a ring.”  
  
“Could have done that. Didn’t,” she said airily. “Besides, I thought you might need to plan a few more tests and would appreciate having the extra time to do so.”  
  
Okay, maybe she had a point there.  
  
“You could have waited an hour or so,” he said gruffly. “I mean, it’s only…” He squinted at his bedside clock. “Six-thirty-something? Dammit, Jane! What’s wrong with you?”  
  
“Love you too, Bailey,” she said, sweetly. “Well, I’d better get going. Things to do, places to be. We can’t all be lazy slug-a-beds. Have fun with the testing.”  
  
Naturally, she rang off before he could think of a suitable retort.  
  
Groaning loudly, he let his phone drop onto the pillow beside him — he honestly couldn’t be bothered to reach over and put it back on the bedside table — and lay back, closing his eyes again. Yes, he was grudgingly forced to admit, Vargas’ news had been worth hearing. But that didn’t mean he had to do something about it right now this second. There was plenty of time for him to get a little more sleep first.  
  
So, that was what he would do.  
  
He would.  
  
Except… apparently his mind had other ideas.  
  
After about quarter of an hour or so of trying fruitlessly to sink back into slumber, he had to face up to the horrible truth that he was now hopelessly and irrevocably awake. Grumbling to himself, he sat up and retrieved his laptop from beside the bed, putting some music on as he got to work.  
  
 _Might as well write up my ideas while they’re fresh in my mind…_  
  
Once he got started, though, his mood rapidly improved. Soon, he was humming along to the music as he worked, anticipation thrumming along his nerves as he considered the testing schedule he and his team — with guidance from Psych, of course — had put together.  
  
This was going to be fun!

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Kieran made a circuit of the Garage — another one — checking on the various items and pieces of equipment that had been set out in preparation for the upcoming power evaluation.  
  
“Stop fussing, Kieran,” Yas said, shaking her head in amusement. “Everything’s fine. You’ve already checked it all about a thousand times already. You’ll make me start to think you don’t trust the rest of us to do our jobs.”  
  
“It’s not that,” he hastened to assure her. Not that she seemed to really need the assurance, judging by the humour glinting in her eyes and the complete absence of anything resembling actual offence. He sighed. “I’m just feeling a little… restless.”  
  
He’d hurried back here after watching Astrid run through the battery of sensory tests in Medical, wanting to set up another couple of experiments. It hadn’t actually taken that long, so now the only thing left to do was wait. He was starting to think he should have taken his time with the preparation. It wasn’t like he didn’t have other things he could be getting on with — there was never any shortage of stuff to do around this place, after all — but he just couldn’t concentrate.  
  
It was actually a relief when his phone rang. (Even if he still hadn’t gotten around to changing that stupid ringtone.) He glanced at the display, feeling a mixture of apprehension and excitement as he saw who was calling.  
  
“Hi Kim,” he said. “Kimberly,” he corrected himself, remembering that she preferred not to have her name shortened. “How’s it going?”  
  
He wandered over to the ground floor office tucked into one corner and sank into a slightly battered but surprisingly comfortable chair.  
  
(Distantly, he wondered where it had come from. Style-wise, it didn’t at all match the other office chairs on this site, and it was distinctly more weathered than the rest of them. Maybe someone had brought it from home? They must have been pretty determined to go through all the hassle of doing that, though.)  
  
“Pretty well so far, thank you,” she said. “How are things on your end? Is everything ready to go?”  
  
“Yep, absolutely! More than ready.” Maybe he should tone down the excitement a little. Maybe. It was hard, though. This was exciting.  
  
“That’s good to know.” Kimberly sounded pleased, and perhaps a little amused, but not unkindly so. “I was just calling to let you know that Astrid will be over there at three o’ clock. Is that alright?”  
  
“That’s perfect,” he said, relieved to finally have an actual start time, rather than the nebulous ‘early to mid-afternoon, once Medical is done.’ “Like I said, we’re all set up here, so…”  
  
“Good,” she said. “There is one other thing I wanted to ask you, as well. Can you please make sure that Astrid takes breaks every now and then?”  
  
“Of course,” he said, a little puzzled that she felt the need to mention that specifically. “I was planning on it.” He wasn’t running a sweat-shop here, after all.  
  
“I know,” she said. “But the reason I’m bringing this up is that Astrid is unlikely to ask for a break, even if she needs one. And if you ask her if she wants one, she’ll almost certainly say no. She’s also self-possessed enough that you’re not necessarily going to notice if she’s flagging. It might be easier just to insist on breaks at regular intervals.”  
  
“Sure, I can do that,” he said. “So she’s a workaholic, huh?” It wasn’t like he didn’t know his fair share of those. Hell, he’d lost count of the number of times he’d had to gently remind a member of his team that human beings needed to eat every once in a while, and that whatever they were working on would still be there when they got back from lunch.  
  
“Something like that,” Kimberly said lightly. “Thanks, Kieran. I know I can count on you.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Vincent_ **

 

Vincent wrapped his scarf more tightly around his neck and tried not to shiver as he drained the last of his coffee.  
  
“Are you cold?” Astrid asked. That was the first thing she’d said to him for a little while. She hadn’t seemed much in the mood for conversation after his little faux pas, and he hadn’t really wanted to press her. He’d left her to her schoolwork — she’d brought out a notebook and pen as well by this point, and had started writing something down — while he read his book.  
  
He smiled ruefully at her. “A little bit. I think I was meant for warmer climes than this. It’s my Italian heritage, I think.”  
  
She blinked at him for a moment, seeming almost startled, before shaking her head and giving him a frown. “You should have told me you were uncomfortable,” she said, her tone one of mild reproach. “We could have moved indoors.”  
  
“I’m not that cold,” he lied easily. He didn’t want her to feel bad.  
  
“You’re shivering,” she pointed out.  
  
He shrugged. “I’m fine. Anyway, you wanted to sit outside.”  
  
She studied him, her frown deepening. “You should have said something, Vincent,” she said firmly. “I’m not unreasonable, and I don’t mind going inside. In future, speak up. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” he said, a little touched by her apparent concern for his wellbeing. She nodded and got to her feet, starting to clear her things away. He checked his watch. “Actually, it’s about time we were heading off.”  
  
“We’re going to the powers evaluation?” she asked, her expression one of lively interest.  
  
“That’s right.” He got up and gathered up his own things, going to dump his trash in the bin.  
  
“Wait,” Astrid said. Commanded, really. He stopped dead, a little surprised at her tone. “That’s recyclable,” she said disapprovingly, gesturing at the water bottle he’d been about to throw in the regular garbage bin.  
  
“Oh. Right,” he muttered, feeling a little bemused at the fact that someone he’d initially classed as ‘shy’ was actually telling him off. Apparently she really was comfortable with taking charge. “Sorry. I didn’t think.” Astrid disposed of her own rubbish — in the correct bins, of course — but, strangely, she hesitated briefly before throwing away the non-recyclables. The expression on her face seemed oddly… conflicted. He wondered what that was about. “Everything okay?” he asked, cautiously.  
  
“Fine,” she said tightly, dropping the trash into the bin and turning to him with an expectant expression. “So, where to now?”  
  
“We need to pick up a vehicle from the motor pool and then I’ll drive us out to the Garage.”  
  
She frowned, falling into step beside him as he led her towards the motor pool. “The Garage?”  
  
“That’s what we call the indoor powers testing site. The outdoor one is called the Range. They’re a short drive away from the main campus.”  
  
“Makes sense,” she muttered, and gave him a wry smile. “I guess they don’t want to risk a shaker or a blaster accidentally bringing one of their” — she glanced up at one of the buildings and pulled a face — “lovely buildings down.”  
  
He laughed. “They are ugly, aren’t they? I guess that’s what you get when you go with the lowest bidder.”  
  
“I guess so,” she replied.  
  
When they were most of the way to the motor pool, she pulled out her phone from her pocket and checked the display. Whatever she saw there must have been welcome, because she smiled. It was the most open expression of happiness he’d seen from her so far today.  
  
“Good news?” he asked, curiously.  
  
She shrugged, the smile vanishing. He almost wished he hadn’t said anything. Her eyes were still bright, though, and she sounded happy when she answered: “Just messages from some of my team mates. Wishing me luck with the testing.”  
  
Huh. And here he’d thought she’d been having issues with her team mates. Clearly, though, she got on well with some of them.  
  
“That’s nice of them,” he said.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
She tapped out a quick response or two and then put her phone away in her bag, rather than in her pocket. He supposed the power assessors wouldn’t want her to have it on her for the tests. Actually, that reminded him…  
  
“I almost forgot. I guess we should swing by your room to drop your bag off before we head out.”  
  
“Actually,” she said, eyeing him cautiously. “I’d prefer to bring it along. Would you mind keeping an eye on it for me while I’m busy with the tests?”  
  
“Sure, I can do that,” he said. It would hardly be the first time one of the capes he was chaperoning had wanted to keep their things close at hand. “I’m not going to be all that far away from you, anyway.”  
  
He was supposed to stay close in case she needed anything. It was honestly kind of a pain sometimes. It wasn’t so bad during the psych eval and the medical exam. At least those took place on the main campus, so he could go for a wander to one of the cafés or something if he wanted. But out at the testing site there was nothing. Just whatever snacks and drinks and entertainment the testing team had remembered to bring with them. Assuming, of course, that they were willing to share, which certainly wasn’t always the case.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, seeming a little relieved.  
  
“You’re welcome.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

They retrieved their car without incident. Well, without any incident aside from some blatant and egregious rudeness by the person in charge of handing out the keys. Vincent honestly wasn’t sure if that was something set up by Psychology or if the man was in question was simply a mannerless oaf. Either way, he let the rudeness simply roll off him, as was his wont. Even if it was entirely real, what was the point in getting worked up about it? Vincent was ultimately going to move on to bigger and better things, while that petty, miserable, ugly little man was stuck managing the vehicles for a research installation in the middle of nowhere; basically nothing more than a jumped-up valet. He was barely even worth pity, let alone ire.  
  
Vincent was, however, interested to note that Astrid seemed to find the peon’s manners — or lack thereof — worthy of a little ire. Well, a certain amount of annoyance, at any rate. At least, that was the impression he got from the way she glared irritatedly at the man from her position by the door to his cramped little office. (Seriously, how important could the man be if he spent his days in a place that was little more than a cupboard with delusions of grandeur?) She didn’t say anything, though, apparently considering that her feelings were more than amply expressed through her silent glower.  
  
The valet didn’t acknowledge Astrid at all, but Vincent did catch him shooting a wary glance in her direction when she turned to leave. He could understand the wariness. Astrid was a parahuman, after all, and that glare had looked a little intimidating. Certainly, Vincent wouldn’t have wanted to have that particular expression turned his way if he could help it.  
  
“Rude asshole,” she commented, as they approached the vehicle they’d been assigned.  
  
“He was a little,” Vincent agreed. He studied her thoughtfully, a little curious about her reaction. Was her irritation was on his behalf, or was rudeness simply one of her pet peeves? “Do you mind if I ask why it bothered you so much?”  
  
She gave him a wary look, and then shrugged. “There was no fucking reason for it,” she said, her voice a little tight. “You’re doing your job, he’s doing his. Why would he go out of his way to make the interaction unpleasant?”  
  
 _Why indeed?_ Vincent mused. Even if it had been a set up, it wasn’t like there weren’t people like that in the world. Personally, he agreed with Astrid’s views on the matter: why spread misery when you didn’t have to? If everyone would just make an effort to be at least civil to each other, the world would be a much nicer place.  
  
“Some people are just unpleasant, I guess,” he said.  
  
“I suppose so,” she said, after a moment. She gave him a peculiar look as he opened the passenger side door for her. “Thanks,” she said, sounding a little confused. He supposed that meant she’d never been driven anywhere by a chauffeur before. Or a gentleman.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said cheerfully, closing the door and heading around to the driver’s side. A chill breeze knifed through him as he got in, making him shiver. He glanced over at Astrid, who seemed unaffected. “Aren’t you cold at all?” he asked.  
  
“No, not really,” she said, giving him a curious look. “The cold doesn’t tend to bother me all that much. But you can put the heating on if you want.”  
  
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “I’ll do that.” He glanced over at her as he started the engine and turned the heater up to a reasonable level. He wasn’t entirely certain, but there was a brief flicker of something that looked like disapproval on her face before it faded into neutrality. Had she not wanted the car heater on after all? But she didn’t say anything, and he certainly wasn’t going to volunteer to turn it off again. It was one thing to play at being subservient for the purposes of a cape’s psychological evaluation. It was another thing entirely to suffer actual physical discomfort. He’d already had enough of feeling chilly. “I take it you’re an outdoorsy kind of person?” he asked, once they were under way.  
  
“I suppose so,” she said.  
  
Vincent waited to see if she would expand on that, but that seemed to be all she had to say. He debated with himself for a moment or two, and then decided to ask another question.  
  
“Does that mean you’re into camping and hiking and things like that?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
This was a little bit like pulling teeth. Still, he persevered.  
  
“Is that a family thing, or do you go with friends?”  
  
“Family,” she said, and her voice was utterly flat. Startled, he glanced over at her, but her face was turned away from him.  
  
He was entirely unsurprised when Dr Ross spoke up to say: “Please don’t pursue that line of questioning any further.”  
  
He’d pretty much already come to the conclusion that doing so wouldn’t be a good idea, despite his curiosity. Maybe he should just concentrate on driving for a little while. Not that it really required much in the way of concentration. There was only one road that led from the main campus to the test site, and theirs was the only vehicle on that road. After a few minutes of silence, however, Astrid — who’d been looking around curiously — spoke again.  
  
“Why do they call them the Garage and the Range?” she asked.  
  
“This place used to be an old army test range,” Vincent explained. “It was mothballed sometime in the… mid-nineties, I think. The PRT took it over a few years after that, and turned it into a powers testing and research facility. I assume the Garage is where they used to keep vehicles back when it was a military installation. I think the Range is probably fairly obvious.” They passed a stand of trees to the left and a building loomed into view ahead of them. “Look,” Vincent said, pointing towards it. “We’re almost there.”  
  
“I see,” Astrid said quietly.  
  
He looked at her, but her expression wasn’t giving much away. “Are you nervous?” he asked.  
  
In contrast to her previous blankness, the unimpressed look she shot him at that spoke volumes. “No,” she said. “I’m just curious as to what’s they’re going to have me do.”  
  
“Well,” Vincent said, making a particular effort to sound cheerful. “I guess we’re going to find out soon enough…”  
  
He had to admit, he was kind of curious himself.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

Kieran strode towards the SUV that had just pulled up, trying to rein in the grin that wanted to spread across his face from ear to ear. He distractedly waved at the driver in passing, but most of his attention was on the girl who emerged from the passenger side of the vehicle with a rucksack dangling from one hand. She looked around, going still as her gaze fell on him. Carefully setting her bag down by her feet, she stood up straight, watching him with a neutral expression as he approached.  
  
“Good afternoon, Astrid,” he said cheerfully, when he reached her. “My name is Kieran Bailey, and I’ll be heading up your powers evaluation this fine day. It’s wonderful to meet you at last. Welcome to the Garage.”  
  
He stuck out his hand, and a moment later she reached out somewhat cautiously to shake it. Despite the wariness of her movements, her grip was strong.  
  
“Thank you, Sir. It’s good to meet you, too,” she said quietly.  
  
He wondered if perhaps Dr Mackenzie had said something to make her a little over-cautious about formality. Or maybe she was just nervous. Either way, he wasn’t sure he could cope with someone calling him ’Sir’ for the rest of the day.  
  
“Kieran will do just fine,” he told her firmly, smiling. “It’s what the rest of my team call me.”  
  
She stared at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Then, it’s nice to meet you, Kieran,” she said carefully. She didn’t return his smile. If anything, she seemed oddly tense.  
  
“Good,” he said, nodding. He turned to the driver, who’d approached while he was greeting Astrid. “And you are?”  
  
“Vincent,” the young man said, shaking his hand. “Intern. Currently assigned to assist Astrid.”  
  
Ah. The chaperone.  
  
“Well, nice to meet you too,” Kieran said affably. “We’ve got an area set up for various members of my team to hang out in when they’re not helping with the tests. There’s plenty of room and there are a variety of refreshments available, including hot drinks. You’re welcome to join them there if you want.”  
  
In general, Psych preferred to keep the testing floor clear of anyone who didn’t need to be there. In case something went wrong, Kieran assumed. He could understand that, as could his team. It didn’t mean some of them hadn’t been disappointed that they wouldn’t be able to hang around and watch the tests from up close. Fortunately, the upper floor offices had a decent view of the test floor by means of windows set into the internal walls. Kieran wasn’t sure if the windows — and, for that matter, the offices themselves — had been part of the building originally, or if they’d been added on later, when the PRT took over the site. He suspected the latter. They certainly made rather convenient observation rooms. His team had claimed one of the larger ones as their staging area.  
  
“Thank you, Kieran,” Vince said, sounding genuinely pleased. “I appreciate that.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” said Kieran. “If you’re going to be hanging around here, you might as well be comfortable. Curtis can show you where it is. Let me just introduce you both to him…” He led them into the Garage, where Curtis was waiting. “Curtis, this is Astrid and Vince.” The young man frowned, and Kieran winced. “Sorry, I mean Vincent.” They exchanged greetings, Astrid seeming a little stiff in comparison to the others’ relative casualness. “Curtis is a materials scientist, and he’ll be assisting us with the first set of tests.” In a mock-whisper, he added: “I’m a materials engineer by training, so that obviously makes the two of us mortal enemies.”  
  
“Obviously,” Curtis said dryly.  
  
Vincent laughed. “But, let me guess, you both put aside your differences to join forces against the physicists?”  
  
“Something like that,” Curtis drawled.  
  
Astrid just watched the three of them, her expression hard to decipher. Well, hopefully she’d relax a little as she got used to their little quirks. He supposed they must seem very different to Dr Mackenzie’s group. A lot less formal, certainly. And, he was willing to bet, a lot more fun.  
  
“Curtis, will you show Vincent to the break room?”  
  
“Sure thing.”  
  
“Thanks,” Kieran said.  
  
Vincent turned to Astrid and held out a hand. “Shall I take your bag?” He grinned. “I promise I won’t let it out of my sight.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, handing it over. To Kieran’s eyes, she seemed a little reluctant. “I’ll see you later, Vincent,” she continued.  
  
At the same time, the sound of Kim’s voice in Kieran’s ear almost made him start in surprise. Curtis stiffened a little, briefly, but covered his reaction with a cough. Vincent didn’t react visibly at all.  
  
“Kieran,” she said. “Will you ask Astrid if she’s wearing any metal jewellery, or anything that might interfere with the tests? And if she says yes, please ask her to remove it.”  
  
He almost said that, even if Astrid was wearing any metal, it shouldn’t interfere with the tests any more than her clothing would, which was to say negligibly. At the last moment, though, he remembered not to reply. And that he was supposed to follow directives from the Psych team unless there was a good reason not to.  
  
“Oh, Astrid,” he called out, hoping it sounded like something that had just occurred to him, rather than something he’d been prompted to say. “While I remember, are you wearing anything that you think might interfere with the tests? Any metal jewellery, say?”  
  
There was a pause before Astrid answered. “I’m wearing jewellery,” she said. “Metal bracelets. Will that be a problem?”  
  
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to remove them,” Kieran said. She tensed a little at his words, and guilt made him add: “Sorry about that.”  
  
“That’s alright,” she said, her tone flat. “It isn’t a problem.” Instead of rolling up her sleeves, though, she just held out her hands, palms cupped together. Kieran watched, fascinated, as a thin stream of metal flowed out from under each sleeve, merging into a single, spherical mass that she held in her cupped palms. When the metal stopped moving and the sphere solidified, she looked up at him. “That’s all of it. Do you need to check?”  
  
He stared at her, a little surprised. “No, I’m happy to take your word for it.”  
  
“Kieran, please ask if you can have a look at the metal,” Kim murmured.  
  
Honestly, he’d been tempted to do that anyway. Not that he was expecting to be able to tell anything from such a cursory inspection, but it was the engineer in him. He always did like to poke at things.  
  
“May I see it?” he asked gently, holding out his hand. She twitched a little — a flinch, or just a nervous tic at the request? — and nodded, passing it to him. It was a little heavier than he’d expected. _She’d been wearing this as bracelets?_ As he’d expected, there was nothing obviously unusual about it. “Stainless steel?” he asked, tapping it with a pen.  
  
“Yes.” She paused briefly, and then continued. “Type 304 austenitic stainless steel, to be precise.”  
  
“You can tell that from touching it?” he asked.  
  
“I can tell its composition by touching it,” she said. “I researched different types of steel, and 304 was the best match for the proportions of its constituents.”  
  
“I see,” he said, a little impressed that she’d gone to the trouble of working that out. He gave the metal sphere back to her. “You might as well leave that in your bag,” he said, because he could hardly tell her she could keep it after suggesting it might interfere with the tests.  
  
“Alright,” she said.  
  
Without being asked Vincent held her bag up and unzipped it for her. Or, at least, he tried to, but he seemed to have a little trouble with the zipper.  
  
“I think it’s stuck,” he said, frowning.  
  
“Here, let me,” Astrid said. She opened it with no trouble at all. Kieran eyed her speculatively as she tucked the ball of metal inside the bag and zipped it up again, wondering if she’d sealed it with her power. It was certainly one way to make it more secure, he supposed, although someone sufficiently determined would presumably just cut through the material of the bag. That would be pretty obvious, though… In any event, once she was done, Curtis led Vincent — carrying Astrid’s bag — off to the break room.  
  
“Good luck with the tests,” Vince told Astrid, smiling.  
  
“Thank you,” she replied softly. She watched the two of them leave, and then turned her attention back to Kieran, meeting his gaze with a neutral expression. He fancied he was beginning to see what Kim had meant when she’d called Astrid ‘self-possessed.’  
  
“You know, you don’t really need luck,” Kieran told her, in what he hoped was a sufficiently reassuring tone. “It’s not that kind of a test. Hopefully someone should have explained that to you already. We just want to help you figure out what you can do. There’s really no need to be nervous.”  
  
“I’m not nervous, S-“ She broke off, took a breath, tried again in a softer tone. “I mean, I’m not nervous. I’m just not sure what to expect.”  
  
“Well, that’s easily solved,” he said. “Generally, I’m going to be asking you to first analyse something, and then try to manipulate it in a variety of ways. We’re going to start out relatively simple, with small amounts of single substances — and then scale up in complexity and size. For the really big stuff, we’ll move out to the Range. The schedule’s quite flexible, so there’s scope for more in-depth investigation of anything that seems particularly promising. Or for us to try out any new ideas we come up with during the course of the planned experiments. Does that sound okay to you?”  
  
“Yes,” she said, after a moment. “It seems relatively straightforward.” She hesitated, and then added: “I’m looking forward it.”  
  
“Good,” Kieran said, smiling. “So am I.”  
  
Astrid actually smiled back. A small smile, it was true, but it was far better than the studied blankness and vaguely tense wariness she’d displayed up until now.  
  
“Kieran, will you please ask Astrid if the metal has any specific value to her?” asked Kim. ( _No, dammit! Kimberly, not Kim. Why can I never remember that?_ ) “Curtis,” she continued. “Please hold off on returning to the main room until I give you the go ahead.”  
  
Kimberly’s question was an interesting one, and he’d wondered about it himself. Astrid certainly had seemed a little reluctant to divest herself of her ‘bracelets.’ He probably wouldn’t actually have asked her about it without prompting, however. It felt a little… intrusive.  
  
But, that was Psych for you. Intrusive was what they did.  
  
Apparently, engineers weren’t the only people who liked prodding at things.  
  
He couldn’t just throw the question out there, just like that, though. He was going to have to lead up to it.  
  
“Just out of curiosity,” he asked, trying to keep his tone light and casual. “Did that type 304 austenitic stainless steel of yours actually start out as a set of bracelets?”  
  
It would have been an unusual choice as a jewellery-making material, if so. Which didn’t rule it out, of course, but… he had his suspicions. As, it seemed, did Kimberly. ( _Ha! Got it right that time!_ )  
  
“No,” Astrid said, and her expression was back to controlled neutrality once again.  
  
“It must be quite heavy, wearing it like that,” he tried.  
  
“It isn’t, particularly.” She really didn’t seem to be inclined to volunteer any information. He assumed that meant she was unhappy with this line of questioning, which just made him feel even more guilty than asking her to take her bracelets off had. He resolved to try and make it up to her somehow.  
  
“Does it have some kind of sentimental value?” Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite as subtle as he’d hoped, but he really couldn’t think of another way to drop that in there. He was an engineer, dammit, not a… a master of social manipulation.  
  
She took a moment or two to respond, as if she was carefully thinking about her answer.  
  
Or as if she was reluctant to give an answer at all.  
  
“Not really.” There was a brief pause, but almost before he could finish musing that ‘not really’ wasn’t an unequivocal ‘no,’ she continued speaking. “It’s a part of the first piece of metal I ever shaped with my power.” Oh. That was interesting. “But it’s not sentiment,” she added hastily, almost as if she’d thought he was criticising her. “It’s a matter of practicality. Part of an ongoing experiment.”  
  
“Oh?” Kieran asked.  
  
Astrid sighed softly and then stood up straighter. “The more I use my power on something, the easier it seems to be. I’ve used it on my metal every day for about a fortnight.”  
  
“Is it still getting easier?” he asked, genuinely intrigued now.  
  
“I think so, a little, although the rate of improvement has definitely slowed compared with the first week. But I’m not sure how much of the improvement so far is just the result of practice, how much is from increased familiarity with the structure of the metal and how much — if any — is due to some facet of my power.” The more she spoke, the more animated she seemed to become. “For that matter,” she continued. “It’s entirely possible that it’s actually reached a plateau, and any perceived improvement from this point on is purely psychosomatic.” She sighed again. “It’s honestly hard to tell from the inside. I’ve tried measuring how quickly I can shape it into specific structures, but the results have been inconclusive at best. And it only occurred to me to start measuring during the past week, so I don’t have a baseline.” A thoughtful look crossed her face. “I suppose ideally I’d start with a new piece of metal. That would be a better test, in fact, because I wouldn’t have to adjust for any inconsistencies from being inexperienced with my power.”  
  
“It sounds like you’ve given this some thought,” Kieran murmured, grinning broadly. Her enthusiasm reminded him a little of himself at her age.  
  
She went very still, her expression going blank so suddenly it was almost like a light went out. “I’m sorry if I was rambling, Sir. I mean, Kieran. I’m just… interested in figuring out my power.”  
  
“You really don’t need to apologise for that,” he said gently, a little puzzled by her reaction. “Of course you’d be interested in figuring out your own power. I’m interested in figuring out your power. Anyway, you weren’t rambling. And even if you had been, so what? God knows I certainly ramble on enough when I’m enthusiastic about something. It would be beyond hypocritical of me to complain about someone else doing the same thing.”  
  
Were his words helping? He honestly wasn’t sure. Where was Kimberly’s voice in his ear when he really needed it? Although he supposed that its absence probably meant he wasn’t messing things up too badly. Well, that or his earbud was on the blink.  
  
But there was no point in worrying about that.  
  
“Tell you what,” he continued. “If you come up with any ideas during the testing, let me know, okay? Same goes for if you have any questions about any part of the testing procedure.”  
  
“You’re sure you won’t mind?” she asked quietly, studying him.  
  
“Not at all,” he said. “I expect my people to feel free to speak their minds, even if some of them do sometimes take that as an excuse to never shut up. And I figure you’re basically an honorary member of the team for the moment.” He smiled at her. “Which means speaking up when you have something to say, and no calling me Sir.”  
  
“I… see,” she said, quietly, giving him a confused, yet wary look. “I’ll try to remember that.”  
  
“Good,” he said. Kimberly gave Curtis the go-ahead to return, which Kieran assumed meant he was free to proceed as he’d intended before this little diversion. “When Curtis gets back, we’ll start the first set of tests. Do you need anything before we begin? Drink? Bathroom break?”  
  
“Yes to the second one,” Astrid said. “Could you please tell me where the restrooms are?”  
  
He pointed her in the right direction, and she thanked him and strode off. Curtis came down the stairs just as she disappeared from view. Kieran beckoned him over.  
  
“Can you keep an eye out for Astrid coming back?” Kieran asked him quietly. “I just need to have a quick chat with Kimberly.”  
  
“Sure thing,” Curtis said. His eyes were bright with curiosity, but he kept his questions to himself as he turned to keep the door in view.  
  
“What is it, Kieran?” Kimberly’s voice in his ear was cautious. “We don’t really have much time to talk.”  
  
“I just have a quick question,” he murmured. “What was the thing with the bracelets about?”  
  
Kimberly took a moment to respond, and he wondered if she was actually going to answer the question. “I wanted to know if she’d admit to having them,” she said, matter-of-factly. “She was reluctant to take them off for the medical exam, so I thought there was a chance she’d lie when you asked her if she was wearing anything metal.”  
  
Kieran was quiet for a moment, turning that thought over in his mind. “But why did you want her to take them off now? She obviously did so earlier without difficulty. Why make her do it for no real reason?”  
  
“Are you really expecting me to explain the rationale behind every part of the psychological evaluation in the space of a couple of minutes?” Kimberly asked, with a certain amount of amused disbelief.  
  
Well, when she put it that way…  
  
“No, I guess not,” Kieran muttered. “I just like to know why I’m doing what I’m doing, that’s all. Obviously, I’ll still follow your directions, but I don’t think you can blame me for being curious.”  
  
“Of course not,” Kimberly said reassuringly. “And I appreciate your cooperation. I realise that it isn’t easy to blindly follow instructions from a disembodied voice in your ear. But I assure you that I will always have a reason for the things I ask you to say or do.”  
  
“I know that,” he said. And he did, really, it was just… He wished he knew what those reasons were.  
  
“Tell you what,” she said. “When this is over, let’s have a chat. You can ask me any questions you have about the evaluation procedure in general, or about any of the specific things I ask you to do as part of Astrid’s evaluation. I can’t promise that I’ll be able to answer all of them, but I will try to answer the ones I can. Does that sound good?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, feeling a little better now he at least had a chance of getting some hard facts. “Thank you.”  
  
“Well, don’t thank me yet,” Kimberly said, and it sounded like she was smiling. “You might not actually like any of the answers. But you’re welcome. And… it’s probably time to end this conversation for the moment.”  
  
“Okay,” he replied. He glanced over at Curtis, who was looking thoughtful. “I guess we might as well head over to the first test station.”  
  
After all, it wasn’t like they needed to keep watch any more.  
  
As he absently looked over the collection of materials laid out on the bench, he couldn’t help wondering what else Kimberly was going to ask him to do during the evaluation. Whatever it was, he hoped it wasn’t anything too stressful for Astrid.  
  
In his opinion, the girl seemed stressed enough already.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“One last thing before we start,” Kieran said, as Astrid watched him attentively. “If at any point you feel fatigue or discomfort, please tell me.” He recalled Kimberly’s warning about Astrid’s reluctance to take breaks. “Even if it’s not enough to stop you continuing with the tests, we still need to know about it. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes,” she said.  
  
“Good.” He grinned at her, excited to finally start the testing. “Then let’s get going. If you could begin by identifying each of these substances in turn…”  
  
The task seemed to pose no difficulty whatsoever, but then Kieran had wanted to start with the easy stuff. Not only did it make sense from a methodological standpoint, he’d hoped it would help to ease any nervousness she might have been feeling. Not that she seemed to be especially nervous right now, as she touched one of the testing blocks and said, confidently:  
  
“Poly(methyl 2-methyl propenoate), or poly(methyl methacrylate).”  
  
That was the second to last sample of this batch. So far, she’d identified every single one of them correctly. She hadn’t always known the names of some of the more complicated or unusual compounds, but she’d been able to sketch out the structures without any trouble. Like she did for this one, using the notepad and pen Kieran had provided when she’d asked for one.  
  
“And what can you tell me about it?” Kieran asked. He’d hadn’t initially planned on asking Astrid to do anything more than identify the materials at first, but when she’d asked him if he wanted to know what else her power told her, how could he resist?  
  
Astrid thought for a moment. “Amorphous structure. Less dense than glass. Quite a bit less dense, in fact. Probably has a much lower melting point. Tougher, though.” She frowned. “Less malleable and ductile than any of the metals, at least in this state. But it has the same kind of… potential for manipulation. Just like glass does.”  
  
She’d talked about that potential a few times now. Apparently one of the things her power gave her was a sense of how easy any given material would be for her to shape. Metals rated highly, of course, but so did glass, and so did various polymers. So it clearly wasn’t just to do with the basic ductility of the materials in question. Kieran had some ideas, though, and was looking forward to testing them…  
  
“Like a living materials analysis lab,” Curtis said, interrupting Kieran’s speculation. He grinned at Astrid “That is pretty damn cool.”  
  
Kieran was briefly concerned about how Astrid was going to respond to that — they were supposed to be careful when discussing a parahuman’s abilities in anything other than a technical context, after all — but as it turned out, he needn’t have worried. She smiled back at Curtis.  
  
“I think so,” she said, sounding a little… shy? “Although I have to study a little to make better sense of some of the information I get.” Her smile turned a little wry. “It’s a good job I’ve always liked research projects.”  
  
It was interesting that her power didn’t seem to fill in all of the blanks, although it also didn’t appear just to extrapolate from knowledge she already possessed. He’d tested that by throwing in the odd sample of… nonstandard materials.  
  
Okay. He’d mostly started with the easy stuff.  
  
But at least he’d waited to throw in the more unusual stuff until he was sure she seemed confident enough with the standard materials.  
  
(They had a few samples of tinker-created, retro-engineered or otherwise exotic materials lying around from some of their projects, mostly proofs of concept, or prototypes that ultimately went nowhere. Plus a few pretty but pointless curiosities, like Curtis’ diamond. Kieran was saving that for a later test.)  
  
Astrid had identified the nonstandard substances just as easily as she had the more mundane ones, even if she hadn’t necessarily known what they were called. And even if she found some of their properties a little puzzling.  
  
Kieran had a feeling that the next sample was really going to confuse her. It certainly confused him!  
  
“Okay, last of one this batch,” he said cheerfully.  
  
She nodded, touched the small off-white cube and frowned. “That’s… interesting,” she murmured, more to herself than to either of them.  
  
“Oh?” Kieran tried not to grin.  
  
“I can identify the structure,” she said cautiously. “But it seems a little… odd. And I’m afraid I have no idea what it’s called.”  
  
“Just do your best,” he told her.  
  
She nodded and sketched it out, but then studied the result, frowning. “Would you mind if I modelled the structure instead?” she asked hesitantly.  
  
“What do you mean?” he asked.  
  
“Well, the chemical formula isn’t nearly representative enough by itself, and the outline is a little messy, so I was thinking I could use some of the other materials to make a three dimensional model. If that’s alright.”  
  
“I’d be interested to see that,” Curtis said.  
  
Kieran was a little curious himself. It was jumping the gun a bit with respect to some of the other tests, but it wouldn’t do any harm. Anyway, he had told her to speak up when she had something to say. It would hardly be fair of him to turn down a reasonable request now.  
  
(Even though he was half-expecting Kimberly to ask him to do so, just because.)  
  
(He was relieved when his earbud remained silent.)  
  
“The structure you’ve drawn looks fine to me, Astrid,” Kieran said, after giving it a quick once over. “But go ahead. Use whatever you want.”  
  
 _So,_ he mused. _She’s a perfectionist as well as a workaholic. No wonder Kimberly asked me to make sure she takes breaks…_  
  
“Thank you,” she said.  
  
She gathered up some of the test samples — all materials she’d identified as being potentially manipulable — and set about constructing a ball and stick model of the substance’s chemical structure. First of all she made a basic wire frame model. Second, she formed spheres to represent the different atoms. Third, she attached the spheres to the wire frame. Finally, she adjusted the wires where necessary to better represent the kinds of bonds involved. It was honestly pretty cool watching her shape the materials with nothing more than the touch of her hands. She even marked each sphere with the relevant elemental symbol, just so there was no confusion about what was representing what.  
  
“That’s it,” she said, when she was done. She turned to look at Kieran. “Is that correct?”  
  
He studied it. “Looks right to me. Curtis?”  
  
Curtis pulled up the relevant file on his laptop, and compared it to Astrid’s model. “Yep, all good.”  
  
“Good.” Astrid seemed to relax a little, but she still seemed puzzled as she touched the sample again, scrutinising her model.  
  
“Something wrong?” Kieran asked.  
  
“I didn’t think sulphur and tellurium could form bonds to each other,” she said. “And even some of the other bonds — the more normal ones — are kind of… odd. The angles and lengths are a little different to what I’d expect.” She frowned. “May I ask: is this some kind of aerogel? Because it has an unusually low density.”  
  
“It is,” Kieran said, unable to keep the grin back any longer. “Specifically, it’s a metal chalcogenide aerogel. And you’re right, the bonds are a little weird, especially the sulphur-tellurium ones, which basically shouldn’t exist at all. It was made by a materials tinker you’ve probably never heard of, using a process we’re still trying to figure out, that makes some of the constituent elements behave a little strangely.”  
  
“I see,” she said, looking a little relieved.  
  
“Sorry I threw you a bit of a curve ball there,” he told her. “I just wanted to see how your power deals with a really nonstandard material.” He grinned. “Apparently just like any other.”  
  
“I was briefly concerned I might have made a mistake,” she said. She didn’t return his grin.  
  
“Has your power ever given you incorrect information before?” he asked, curious.  
  
“Not as far as I know,” she said. “But what it was telling me seemed so odd that I just wanted to double-check.” Her gaze went a little distant, and he assumed she must be focusing on what her power was telling her about the aerogel. “Am I allowed to ask what this was made for? Or is that classified?”  
  
At least she was actually asking questions now, even if she was a little hesitant about it.  
  
“It’s not classified,” he said. He didn’t bother to add that he wouldn’t have let her analyse it if it was. “It’s designed to clear heavy metal pollutants from water. The unusual structure is supposed to make it do so more effectively.”  
  
“Supposed to?” she repeated curiously.  
  
“There’s a problem with it. Can you tell what it is?”  
  
Astrid was quiet for a moment. “It’s too brittle. There are cracks running all the way through it already. I doubt it would stand up to even minor serious stresses over time, let alone any serious ones.” She frowned. “I’m not sure I could even fix it without breaking it further. The whole structure’s just under too much strain.”  
  
“Does the material itself feel weird?” Curtis asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Aside from being brittle, I mean.” He set the laptop aside and leaned in a little to take a closer look at the model. And by look, he meant touch, carefully turning it this way and that. “Like, does it actually feel wrong or abnormal? Or is it just that it’s different to what you were expecting?”  
  
His attention was on the model so, unlike Kieran, he probably didn’t see Astrid’s reaction to his movement, which was to half-turn towards him, tensing visibly. Kieran was surprised. She had seemed a little tense before, sure, maybe a little stressed, but he hadn’t realised she was quite this much on edge.  
  
Just how much had the Psych team already pushed her today? Or had she started out this wound up?  
  
Not for the first time, he wondered if perhaps there was a better way of doing this.  
  
“Might want to watch the sudden movements, Curtis.” It was Andy’s voice over the earbuds this time, not Kimberly’s. “I think you startled her.”  
  
“Don’t comment on it,” Kimberly said swiftly. “Just act normally. But back off a little, as naturally as you can.”  
  
“It doesn’t feel abnormal,” Astrid said, keeping a wary eye on Curtis as he followed Kimberly’s instructions, setting the model back down and meandering back to his previous position. “It feels just as normal as any of the other structures. The bonds are just different to what I’d expect, that’s all.”  
  
“Interesting,” Curtis said. He seemed a little subdued to Kieran’s gaze, but hopefully Astrid wouldn’t notice. He seemed to recover something of his usual good spirits, though, when he went on to ask: “Do you mind if I take a photo of your model?”  
  
“No, go ahead,” she told him, moving aside so he could get a clear shot. She looked over at Kieran. “I’ll disassemble it and reform the blocks when he’s done,” she said.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said.  
  
Not that he was really all that bothered whether she did or didn’t. The test samples weren’t really needed for anything else, after all. But he was curious to see how she did it. Assuming she actually could, of course.  
  
And… apparently she could. It seemed to take a little more time for her to disassemble the model and separate it into its component materials than it had to make it, but in not too long at all, the construct was gone. In its place stood the original sample blocks.  
  
 _Fascinating._  
  
That was definitely something he’d want to investigate further. Assuming that Astrid was willing, of course. He really hoped she was. Although he was pretty sure that none of this — as interesting and as cool as it was to him — was precisely what the PRT were really hoping to get out of today’s testing. Still, he and his team still had plenty of time to look at the potential field applications of Astrid’s power. There was no harm in spending a little of it exploring some of the other possibilities.  
  
“Was it harder to take the model apart than it was to build it?” Kieran asked.  
  
“Yes and no,” she said. She paused briefly — reluctance to answer, or just considering her words? — and then continued. “In general, it’s easier to break things than to make them. But separating out specific components takes a little more concentration. I think it’s to do with what counts as an object to my power.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Curtis asked, apparently having bounced back fully from his brief subdued period.  
  
“It’s a little difficult to explain,” she said flatly.  
  
Kieran waited for her to continue, but she seemed to have ground to a halt. “Will you try?” he prompted gently.  
  
“Bit of a pulse spike there,” came Andy’s voice over the comms. “You might want to be careful about pursuing this line of questioning.”  
  
In hindsight, Andy’s warning didn’t come as that much of a surprise. The fact that Astrid hadn’t immediately volunteered the information should have been a bit of a clue; would have been, if Kieran hadn’t been so interested to know the answer. He felt bad about stressing her to the point where it showed up on the sensors, but before he could tell her he retracted the question, she was already answering.  
  
“Joining two separate things together to form a single object is easy,” she said, matter-of-factly. “It’s just a case of forming the right bonds.”  
  
Well, she didn’t sound too stressed. And in the absence of any further directives from Psych, he decided to just play this by ear.  
  
“‘Just’ forming bonds, huh?” he echoed, amused but not entirely surprised at her casual phrasing. He supposed that, as cool or as amazing as any given power might be to everyone else, to the parahuman in question it must eventually come to seem like just another thing they could do. Like running a marathon, or playing a flute, or being good at chess.  
  
Astrid looked at him for a moment, and then shrugged. “It’s funny how quickly you can get used to things.”  
  
“I suppose so,” he murmured.  
  
“Anyway,” she continued. “Breaking something in a non-specific way is even easier than forming bonds.” Kieran made a mental note to ask her to demonstrate that. “But separating it into its components takes a bit of concentration.”  
  
“Because it’s all part of the same object?” Kieran prompted cautiously, when she fell silent.  
  
“Yes, exactly. I can identify the individual components, but they’re still part of the whole. And in some ways it’s easier to affect the whole thing than to manipulate individual parts. Also, once I separate out one of the components, it becomes a distinct object.”  
  
“So you need to touch it to manipulate it?”  
  
“Yes.” She paused for a moment, her expression inscrutable. “Well, that’s it. I’m sorry I can’t explain any more clearly.”  
  
“It’s clear enough,” he assured her.  
  
He really wanted to ask more questions, but he figured now was probably not a good time. Still, they had the rest of the day to gather information, the tests would yield plenty of data without necessarily having to ask her questions she was reluctant to answer.  
  
“Good,” she said.  
  
Kieran considered for a moment. “I think it’s time for a short break,” he decided. “And then we’ll continue with the next set of tests, if that’s alright with you.”  
  
“I don’t need to take a break,” Astrid replied swiftly. “I’m not fatigued in the slightest, and there’s absolutely no discomfort. I’ve used my power much more extensively and for much longer than this without issue.”  
  
That was certainly interesting to know, but it didn’t change his mind.  
  
“Maybe you don’t need a break,” he said, grinning. “But what about the rest of us?”  
  
She gave him a slightly confused look, but she didn’t reply.  
  
“Kieran’s always talking about ‘work-life balance’ and crap like that,” Curtis drawled, grinning. “I think he’s pretty much kicked all of us out of one of the offices or labs at some point or another with instructions to ‘get some fresh air’ or some other hippy nonsense. You get used to him mother henning you after a while.”  
  
“I don’t mother hen anyone!” he protested, a little offended. He wasn’t that bad. He just liked to make sure his people were taking care of themselves, that was all. It wasn’t his fault most of them seemed to have more enthusiasm than common sense.  
  
(He ignored the little voice at the back of his mind that pointed out his own occasional hypocrisy in that regard.)  
  
(He also ignored the fact that the voice sounded like his oldest sister.)  
  
(Which reminded him: it had been far too long since he’d paid Shannon and her family a visit. It was probably time to rectify that.)  
  
(For that matter, he should really check up on Meredith, too. Assuming that she was actually contactable at the moment.)  
  
(Liam, he already had way too much contact with. He really should make another attempt to convince his younger brother that he didn’t have to share absolutely every little bit of his personal life on Facebook. Seriously.)  
  
“Suuure you don’t, Boss,” Curtis smirked.  
  
“Well, maybe if you didn’t keep working through lunch, I wouldn’t have to make sure you actually remembered to eat once in a while,” Kieran muttered. “I do not want the hassle of having to dispose of your starved and withered corpse. Not to mention having to find and train your replacement.”  
  
“Gee, thanks,” Curtis said. “Nice to know you care.”  
  
“I thought you just said I care too much,” Kieran pointed out, amused despite himself. “Make up your mind.”  
  
“You shouldn’t work through lunch, Curtis,” Astrid burst out, surprising him. She’d been watching the two of them bicker amiably with the strangest of expressions, but now her demeanour was nothing but earnest as she focused her attention on Curtis. “It’s important to eat properly if you want to maintain your health and level of fitness. Anyway, you’ll probably find you’ll be able to concentrate better on what you’re doing if you’re not hungry. It’s-“ She broke off suddenly, her cheeks flushing bright red. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Kieran said, affably. “You don’t need to apologise for backing me up.” He would’ve been tempted to pat her reassuringly on the shoulder, but given her reaction to Curtis getting closer to her, he suspected she wouldn’t have found the action all that reassuring. Anyway, there were the rules to consider. Instead, he smirked at Curtis. “Looks like it’s two against one. You’re outnumbered.”  
  
“Whatever,” Curtis said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not going to do me any harm to skip lunch once in a while.”  
  
“I don’t know how you can do that,” Astrid said, eyeing Curtis askance. “Don’t you get hungry?”  
  
Curtis shrugged laconically. “I don’t always notice. Sometimes I just get so caught up in my work that most of the day goes by before I realise I haven’t eaten.”  
  
Kieran had to suppress a chuckle at the look Astrid gave Curtis then; like she had serious doubts about the guy’s sanity. Apparently this was a subject about which she felt strongly.  
  
“Anyway,” he said firmly. “Let’s take ten minutes or so and then continue with the testing. Okay?”  
  
“Sure thing,” Curtis said, equably. “I wouldn’t mind a drink anyway.” He looked at Astrid. “You want anything while I’m going?”  
  
Astrid hesitated for a moment. “I don’t need any refreshments,” she said. “But I would like something from my bag. I can get it, though.” She glanced over at Kieran. “If I’m allowed up there, that is.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Kimberly said.  
  
“Of course,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too distracted by the voice in his ear. “Let’s head on up. I can introduce you to my people…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

“Do you consider cooking to be a hobby?” Kimberly asked.  
  
Astrid had spoken on the subject with what seemed to be genuine enthusiasm, her eyes bright as she talked about some of the recipes she planned to try out. Aside from when she’d expressed her admiration for the Merlin, and her appreciation of the flight up here, this was the most animation Kimberly had seen the girl display throughout the whole interview so far.  
  
It seemed to support a hypothesis of deliberate reserve, rather than reduced affect; not unexpected given her background. Not necessarily a problem in and of itself, of course, but given some of Astrid’s other traits… Still, that would be a matter for the counsellors. It was certainly beyond the scope of this particular evaluation.  
  
“Not really, Ma’am,” Astrid said, her expression neutral once more. “It’s just something I enjoy doing.”  
  
“It certainly sounds like you’ve done a lot of it.” Kimberly deliberately kept her tone neutral; a simple observation, not a judgement of any kind. Even so, Astrid’s tone was cautious when she replied.  
  
“Dad works a lot, Ma’am. My brother and I often take turns making dinner.” In a quieter voice, she added: “Well, we did.”  
  
There were a number of directions in which Kimberly could have guided the conversation from this point, but for the moment she chose a route that led away from the known minefield.  
  
“Do you have any hobbies or interests?” she asked.  
  
Astrid hesitated for a moment. “I like to read, Ma’am,” she said quietly. Before Kimberly could ask her to elaborate on that, she was already hurrying onwards. “I also like to keep physically active,” she said quickly. “I run. And I’m on the girls’ soccer team at my school.”  
  
“Is your team any good?” Kimberly asked lightly, smiling.  
  
“We’re pretty good, Ma’am,” Astrid said, sounding a little proud. “We usually do well in the local tournaments, although we haven’t really gone beyond that.” She sighed. “Not that the school could really afford to send us to any of the state or national tournaments, I guess.”  
  
“That’s a shame,” Kimberly said, her tone sympathetic.  
  
“It is what it is, Ma’am,” Astrid said philosophically. She frowned. “Although I guess I’m not on the team any more. I’m not even going to that school any more. So I guess it’s not something I have to worry about now.”  
  
Kimberly remembered seeing a note on Astrid’s file to the effect that she was in the process of transferring to another school. In the meantime, however, she wasn’t attending school at all. Until the transfer went through, her education was in the hands of the Brockton Bay Wards’ tutors. Not an ideal situation, but it couldn’t be helped. Both the Youth Guard representative and the CPS liaison had agreed that if she went back to her current school there was a significant risk that her father would find her and cause her further harm.  
  
Or attempt to cause her further harm.  
  
Either way, it was a situation they wanted to avoid.  
  
“It must have been hard to leave your friends behind,” Kimberly said.  
  
“I don’t really have any, Ma’am.” Astrid’s tone was matter-of-fact. That wasn’t entirely surprising, given her reserve. Kimberly was, however, a little surprised not to hear Andrew’s voice informing her the sensor readouts showed signs of stress.  
  
“Not even on the soccer team?” Kimberly asked.  
  
Astrid was silent for a short while before answering. “I get on well with them, I guess, Ma’am,” she said slowly. “But it’s not like we hang out together outside of soccer practice, or matches, or stuff like that. I’d say they’re acquaintances rather than friends.”  
  
“Slightly elevated stress markers there, but not massively so,” Andrew commented.  
  
Kimberly made some notes while she considered her next move.  
  
“Have you had much chance to get to know your fellow Wards yet?” she asked.  
  
“A little, Ma’am,” Astrid said cautiously. “Some more than others.”  
  
“It can be difficult, meeting new people,” Kimberly observed.  
  
Her tone was deliberately neutral, despite the slightly leading statement. In her experience, a leading statement was sometimes best at getting a response than a completely open one. If her words were weighted one way or another, it could push the other person into expressing an opinion of their own. It was a technique that had to be used cautiously, but it seemed appropriate in this case.  
  
“It can be, Ma’am,” she said quietly. “But I think it’s going reasonably well overall,” she hastened to add.  
  
Kimberly didn’t even need Andrew’s prompt to realise that Astrid was feeling anxious.  
  
So, a claimed lack of friends, and a potential stressor regarding meeting new people. This could be a concern. Not an insurmountable one, perhaps, but still.  
  
Yet another thing they’d have to test.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Curtis_ **

 

Curtis watched Astrid as Kieran introduced her to the rest of the team. Well, those members of the team who’d come out to help with the testing. Which was actually most of them, although for some ‘helping’ pretty much just meant ‘watching.’ And possibly ‘commentating.’ Kieran hadn’t seemed to mind, but then he was easygoing like that. Anyway, it wasn’t often that the ‘Props Department’ actually got to take the lead on a powers evaluation, so of course everyone was interested. Why wouldn’t they be?  
  
(Actually, Curtis supposed that they might have gotten to oversee tinker evaluations, if those actually followed the same SOP as other power evaluations. But, well, they didn’t. They worked with tinkers, sure, but that wasn’t the same thing at all.)  
  
He wondered what she made of them.  
  
“This is Yas,” Kieran was saying.  
  
“Yasmeena,” she corrected, but Curtis knew she didn’t really mind Kieran’s abbreviation of her name, even though he’d heard her correct other people on occasion when they did the same thing. He’d asked her about it once, and she said she didn’t mind nicknames from her friends. Then she’d smiled and told him to call her Yas. That had been a really good day. “Nice to meet you, Astrid,” she continued.  
  
“You too,” Astrid replied politely. She didn’t smile, but then again she seemed to only do that rarely. Idly, Curtis wondered if Astrid was actually her real name. The odds said it wasn’t, but she didn’t seem to have any problem answering to it. He supposed she really couldn’t have been doing this all that long if she didn’t have a cape name yet.  
  
“Yas is the group’s senior spark,” Kieran said, smiling. “And my second in command.” Confidingly, added. “I need all the help I can get herding this lot.”  
  
Naturally, that gave rise to a whole chorus of protests, as he must have known it would, but it was all good natured. A confused look briefly passed over Astrid’s face before her expression smoothed out again.  
  
“Spark?” she asked.  
  
“I’m an electrical engineer,” Yas told her, smiling.  
  
“I see,” Astrid said. “Thank you.”  
  
Still keeping a curious eye on her, Curtis crossed the room and grabbed himself a drink from the fridge.  
  
“How’s it going down there?” Nick asked him quietly, as Kieran continued the introductions.  
  
“What, like you weren’t watching?” Curtis drawled, sinking into a seat next to Nick. He knew he would have been if he’d been waiting around up here. Hell, he was planning on doing so when Eliot took over from him after the next set of tests.  
  
It wasn’t just about wanting to see a parahuman use their powers — although there was a certain amount of that in the mix. It was, well… They were running this evaluation. Their team. They all had a proprietary interest in the outcome.  
  
Generally, their only involvement in the new parahuman evaluations was limited to supplying the various materials and pieces of equipment needed for the testing procedures. Not that designing/building/rebuilding/kit-bashing such ‘props’ wasn’t a task and a half, but it wasn’t the same thing as actually being there in person.  
  
Sometimes one or more of them might be brought in as tech support, of course, or even to adjust some piece of equipment on the fly, but that wasn’t the same as directly assisting with the testing itself. Anyway, from what Curtis was given to understand — as he hadn’t yet had that particular pleasure — being treated as a glorified mechanic tended to tarnish the experience somewhat.  
  
Anyway, it certainly wasn’t the same as being in charge.  
  
Well, technically Kieran was in charge, but it was a team effort, and they were all invested in making sure it went well.  
  
“Can’t really see all that much from up here. Not at this stage,” Nick said.  
  
Curtis shrugged. “It seems to be going pretty well so far,” he said. “But we’ve barely gotten started. There’s a long way to go yet.” He raised his eyebrows enquiringly. “You looking forward to your part?”  
  
“Yeah,” Nick said, nodding. He didn’t grin — that wasn’t really his way — but his eyes lit up as he continued: “Be good to give Bob a workout against someone new, even if we did have to hustle a bit to get him back in fighting condition at such short notice.” He gave Curtis a thoughtful look. “Any idea why the powers that be changed their minds about that?”  
  
“Nope, not a clue,” Curtis said, shrugging. Their initial brief for the tests had included an admonition to avoid anything too physically strenuous. This morning, though, they’d been notified that that particular restriction had been rescinded, so Kieran had revised the assessment procedure accordingly.  
  
“Not complaining, though,” Nick murmured. “It’s nice to feel useful.”  
  
Before Curtis could say anything to that, Kieran brought Astrid over to introduce her to Nick.  
  
“Excuse me if I don’t get up,” Nick said, after they’d exchanged the obligatory pleasantries, tapping one of the wheels of his chair. Astrid got that look that so many people did when he said that; the one that said they weren’t sure whether or not they were actually supposed to find that funny. Curtis was pretty sure he’d worn it himself when Nick had said those words to him. In any event, Nick took pity on her soon enough. “So,” he said. “I hear you hail from my old stomping grounds.”  
  
“You’re from Brockton Bay?” Astrid asked quietly.  
  
“Not originally, but I was assigned there for a while.”  
  
Astrid’s gaze sharpened. “You’re PRT?”  
  
Technically, of course, everyone here worked for the PRT, but he had the feeling that wasn’t what she meant.  
  
“Used to be, until I got myself permanently benched.” He didn’t tap the chair again, but then he didn’t have to. Astrid’s gaze drifted that way, briefly, but then she brought her gaze back up to meet Nick’s. “My career went a bit of a different direction after that.”  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking,” she asked carefully. “What’s your speciality?”  
  
“Why don’t we save that for later?” Kieran interrupted. “Let’s not spoil the surprise.” He smiled, but the expression didn’t seem quite right to Curtis. He wondered if Psychology had given him and Nick a special directive about Nick’s part in the testing. If so, they’d presumably they’d done it earlier, or Curtis would have heard it over his own earbud.  
  
“Sorry,” Nick said, sounding amused. “You heard the chief.”  
  
Astrid went still, which was an impressive feat given she hadn’t exactly been moving much beforehand. She didn’t seem like the kind of person who was inclined to fidget.  
  
“I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn, S-, ah, Kieran,” she said.  
  
“You didn’t,” Kieran hastened to assure her. “You can always ask questions. We just won’t always be able to answer them, I’m afraid.” He took a breath. “Anyway,” he said, firmly. “Over here we have Melanie, one of our chemical engineers…”  
  
Nick glanced around and beckoned over Astrid’s escort, Vincent.  
  
“Something I can help you with?” Vincent said, smiling cheerfully as he approached.  
  
“Just wondering,” Nick murmured. “She been this tightly wound all day?”  
  
Vincent leaned back, studying his charge thoughtfully. “She loosened up a bit over lunch,” he said, shrugging. “But she went quiet again when we got here. I think she’s just shy.” He glanced at Curtis. “How was she during the tests? It certainly looked like she was a bit more talkative, especially towards the end.”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” he said. He grinned. “She even told me off about working through lunch.”  
  
Vincent laughed. “That’s probably because she had breakfast at some ridiculously early hour of the morning and didn’t eat lunch until after two. Anyway, are you having fun with the tests so far?” He smiled like he was inviting them to share a joke. “I bet it certainly beats spending the day making toys for other people to play with.”  
  
Curtis didn’t actually mind making ‘props.’ He honestly enjoyed the challenge of it — because having to come up with a way of measuring the effects of some power he’d never heard of before was definitely a challenge —  even if it was sometimes a little frustrating to be pulled away from whatever else he was working on, often at short notice. (Even if whatever he was working on was usually frustrating in its own special way.) Some members of the team complained about the way their ability to pull off the impossible — or, at least, the highly difficult — at short notice and often with incomplete information seemed to be taken for granted by the other groups. That had never really been one of his personal bugbears, however. As long as Kieran was pleased with him — and he himself was satisfied that he’d done the best he could — then that was all the recognition he needed.  
  
But he understood that not everyone felt the same way.  
  
And it did sometimes seem like very few people outside the team even realised that they did anything other than supply tools for power assessments.  
  
“That what you think we do here?” Nick asked. If he were anyone else, Curtis thought he might actually be chuckling right about now. But then he, like Curtis, never did seem all that bothered about what people outside the team thought. Yas, on the other hand, was glaring daggers at the back of Vincent’s head.  
  
In the interests of preventing their guest from digging himself further into Yas’ bad graces — with Nick ‘helpfully’ supplying a metaphorical shovel — Curtis thought he’d better speak up.  
  
“It’s pretty cool,”  he said. “Kinda neat to see someone identify stuff with a touch, let alone manipulate it. I’m looking forward to when we scale up.”  
  
“You seen the kid use her power before now, Vincent?” Nick asked, apparently having either figured out Curtis’ play, or simply willing to let himself be distracted from shit-stirring for his own amusement.  
  
“She used it to peel an orange. And she fixed my phone.”  
  
“Your phone?” Nick said, getting there a heartbeat before Curtis.  
  
Vincent shrugged, looking rueful. “I managed to drop it on concrete. Cracked the screen.”  
  
“Unlucky,” said Curtis.  
  
“I’m sure Daddy and Mommy could just buy you a new one,” Yas muttered.  
  
 _Wow,_ Curtis thought, a little surprised. Yas could occasionally be a little snippy, but those words had held some real vitriol. Brief bout of tactlessness aside, though, Vincent had seemed nice enough to him. Maybe he’d said something unfortunate to her while Curtis had been down on the testing floor. She did have a tendency to hold grudges.  
  
In any event, Vincent just grinned easily at her. “I’m sure they could,” he said affably, seemingly unfazed by her hostility. “But, thanks to Astrid, they don’t have to.” He pulled out his phone and showed it to them. “See? Good as new.”  
  
Sure enough, the phone looked completely pristine.  
  
“Can I take a look?” Nick asked, holding out his hand.  
  
“Sure,” Vincent said, handing it over. “I just hope you’re not as clumsy I was,” he added, self-deprecatingly.  
  
“I’ll do my best,” Nick said dryly. He turned the phone this way and that, tilting the screen up to the light. Curtis leaned in to take a closer look, as did Yas. There wasn’t really a lot to see. “Huh,” was Nick’s verdict. He handed the phone back.  
  
“No problem,” Vincent said, tucking it back into his pocket. Without saying a word, Yas headed over towards Kieran, who seemed to be deep in conversation with Melanie. Astrid was chatting with Joy and Hugh — biomaterials scientist and electronic engineer, respectively — although it looked like it would be more accurate to say that they were chatting with her. Or, possibly, at her. Vincent frowned minutely as he followed the direction of Curtis’ gaze. “Excuse me,” he murmured. “I think I should probably go and rescue my principal from your colleagues.”  
  
“Cute,” Nick said quietly, once Vincent had joined the trio. “He thinks he’s her bodyguard.”  
  
“Well, he is supposed to look after her,” Curtis observed, just as quietly. “He’s just doing his job.” Maybe not a bodyguard, per se, but keeping her from getting stressed or upset was protection of a sort. Emotional wellbeing was important too, right?  
  
Nick just shrugged, looking vaguely amused.  
  
In any event, Astrid didn’t precisely seem unhappy to be smoothly extricated from her ‘conversation’ with Joy and Hugh. Curtis was almost surprised not to have received a heads up from Psych about her stress levels. Vincent handed her backpack to her, and she unzipped it to retrieve a notebook and pen. Once she was done, she zipped the bag again.  
  
“Let me take that,” Vincent said cheerfully, gesturing at the bag, and she handed it over.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, actually smiling a little.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he told her. He nodded at the notebook. “More schoolwork?” There was a teasing note to his voice. From the sharp look she gave him, Curtis thought she didn’t much care for it.  
  
“Lab book,” she answered flatly. “I want to make some notes on the tests.”  
  
“Planning your own experiments?” Kieran asked, apparently having finished his discussion with Melanie.  
  
“Yes,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, Curtis supposed, it kind of was. He knew if he ever got powers, figuring out how to test and develop them would be one of the first things he’d do. Probably right after freaking out. Astrid glanced around the room and then looked back at Kieran. “Do you mind if I sit down?” she asked cautiously.  
  
“Of course not,” he said, looking a little startled. “You don’t need to ask.”  
  
Vincent had called her shy, but Curtis didn’t think that was the whole of it. ‘Tightly wound’ was definitely a good description.  
  
“Thank you,” she said. Taking a seat, she opened her lab book and jotted down a few brief notes. Curtis would have been highly tempted to shamelessly read over her shoulder if he’d been in a position to do so, but as it was he got to pretend he was taking the high road instead.  
  
Curtis was amused at the conflicted look that flickered over Kieran’s face before he resolutely turned away. Apparently Curtis hadn’t been the only one who was tempted to peek. Kieran crossed the room to retrieve a couple of sticks of that red liquorice he was so fond of. By the time he returned, Astrid was apparently done with her notes, closing her book and getting to her feet.  
  
“I’m ready to get back to work whenever you are,” she said, looking at Kieran.  
  
Kieran looked at her for a moment, and then turned to Curtis.  
  
“Are you ready, Curtis?”  
  
“Sure,” he said, getting to his feet and putting his half-finished drink back in the fridge. It wasn’t like he’d really needed a break. Anyway, he was eager to get on with the next round of tests. “Let’s get back to it.”  
  
Turning to Astrid, Kieran grinned and held out one of the liquorice twists. “Want one of these?”  
  
Astrid gave the piece of confectionary a very dubious look. “No, thank you.”  
  
“Suit yourself,” Kieran said. Shrugging, he tucked one of the twists in his shirt pocket. “Oh,” he said, using the other one to point at Astrid’s lab book. “You can bring that with you if you want. In case you feel like making some more notes.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, sounding a little bemused.  
  
Curtis wondered if maybe she’d let him take a look in that lab book later. Or at least tell him what kind of experiments she was planning. Maybe if he asked nicely.  
  
But, in the meantime…  
  
 _On with the testing!_


	4. Chapter 4

**_Kieran_ **

 

The explosion was over almost before Kieran realised what it was.  
  
A muted bang and a small burst of yellow-orange flame, rapidly guttering out as Astrid yanked her hand back a beat too late.  
  
“Fuck!” she exclaimed.  
  
Kieran was moving towards her before he was consciously aware of making the decision to move at all.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked worriedly, automatically checking to make sure that the small explosion really had burnt itself out completely; that nothing else had caught alight.  
  
(After all, fire resistant didn’t actually mean fire proof. He’d learned that one the hard way. Fail to make to sure a fire was properly out, and the next time you turned around you could be facing an unexpected inferno.)  
  
(That was an experience that had stuck with him.)  
  
(Okay, maybe ‘inferno’ was a little bit of an exaggeration. But it had been a lesson damn well learned, that was for sure.)  
  
Astrid whirled to face him, her eyes a little wide. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I don’t know what went wrong.”  
  
“Never mind that,” he said. “Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?”  
  
Curtis bent to take a closer look at the bench, poking at the dark smear that now marked its surface. Astrid’s eyes flicked briefly in his direction, but she held herself still, her posture rigid and her hands by her sides as she met Kieran’s gaze.  
  
“I’m fine,” she said quietly, her expression giving nothing away.  
  
“Holy shit,” Curtis murmured, shaking his head. “That was a solid lump of graphite. How did you make it explode?”  
  
“I’m not certain,” Astrid said quietly, still focused on Kieran.  
  
“We can figure that out later,” Kieran said. “For now, the important thing is to make sure you’re alright.” She didn’t look obviously singed to his quick once-over, but… “Let me see your hand.”  
  
She hesitated for a moment, and then held out her hand, palm up, showing noticeably reddened fingertips. There was no blistering or peeling, though, which was a good sign. Kieran was briefly relieved that she didn’t seem to be seriously hurt. Hard on the heels of that relief, though, was a wave of guilt at the fact that she’d been hurt at all.  
  
“There’s no real damage,” she said. “It’ll be fine if I run it under the cold tap for a couple of minutes.”  
  
Expecting her to head straight for the nearest sink — and, thinking about it, he was a little surprised she hadn’t done so right away, but then he hadn’t thought about it either until now — Kieran was surprised when she stayed exactly where she was, looking at him like she was waiting for something.  
  
“Go; do it!” he said, pointing in the general direction of the sink. “You don’t need my permission!”  
  
The strangest look passed briefly over her face, but then she nodded and strode off to stick her burned fingers under the cold water tap. Kieran watched her, frowning, already working out where to go from here.  
  
(He was half-surprised not to hear Kimberly’s voice in his ear, issuing instructions. Maybe that meant she trusted him to deal with this.)  
  
“What happened?” came Yas’ voice from behind him.  
  
Because of course her response to hearing or seeing an explosion was to head towards it. Of course it was. And it looked like she wasn’t the only one. There was Mel, and Hugh, and Vince — he was hurrying over towards Astrid now — and Kieran figured that the only reason Nick wasn’t down here already was because taking the elevator in his chair was a little bit slower than simply pelting full-tilt down the stairs.  
  
“Astrid was trying to turn graphite into diamond,” Curtis piped up. He looked at the bench. “It… didn’t quite work.”  
  
“Is she hurt?” Yas asked.  
  
“Slightly singed fingertips,” Kieran said. “It didn’t seem too bad at first glance.”  
  
“I’ll go and take a look,” Yas said briskly, striding off towards where Astrid seemed to be arguing with Vincent. Well, maybe not arguing, per se, but definitely disagreeing about something, judging from the body language.  
  
Yas was the team’s registered first aider, although a few of them had also taken the relevant courses. It was one of those things that Kieran himself had been meaning to do, but he just hadn’t gotten around to it. Maybe when the evaluation was finished he should check when the first aid course was next being run. Just to be on the safe side.  
  
Kieran thought about heading over to check on Astrid, but didn’t want to crowd her. In any case, he figured Yas would have the situation well in hand. Maybe he could try to figure out what exactly had just happened. He joined the small knot of people crowding around the testing bench, completely unsurprised when Nick turned up to join them.  
  
“Don’t remember seeing bomb-making on the test schedule,” Nick mused.  
  
“It wasn’t,” Kieran said, frowning.  
  
“So, what happened?”  
  
Kieran let Curtis handle explaining the basic facts of the matter to everyone who hadn’t already heard them. He swiped a finger over the dark smear on the bench — a scorch mark, with a residue of soot — and frowned. There was a nagging feeling of déjà vu, like he’d seen this before, or something like it. He pursued the thought, worrying at it like a dog with a bone, and a memory came to mind. Several memories, really: most of them of watching videos, aside from that one notable lab demonstration.  
  
Huh.  
  
_But how could…?_  
  
His musings were interrupted by the approach of Astrid, Yas and Vincent.  
  
“What’s the verdict?” Kieran asked, directing the question more at Yas than at Astrid.  
  
“Minor surface burn,” Yas pronounced. “Probably stings a little, but nothing too serious.”  
  
“It’s fine,” Astrid said quietly. She gave Kieran a cautious look. “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t know why that happened.”  
  
“What did I tell you about calling me Sir?” Kieran said, smiling. He was aiming for humour, trying to lighten the mood, but to his surprise Astrid froze.  
  
“I’m sorry, Kieran,” she said, sounding wary. “It’s just… habit.”  
  
Kieran was just drawing breath to speak — although he wasn’t sure whether it was to ask a question or try to reassure her (well, he’d likely attempt both, but he yet hadn’t decided in what order) — when Kim’s voice sounded in his ear.  
  
“Please don’t ask her about that. But do try to find out what just happened, and if she’s done anything like it before.”  
  
Now that Kimberly had warned him off asking the question, what had been a mild curiosity blazed into a full-on desire to know, but he set it aside. He assumed there was a reason for the edict, and he certainly didn’t want to distress Astrid further. So he went with reassurance instead.  
  
“No need to apologise,” he said gently. “I was just joshing you a little. But I’m glad you’re okay.”  
  
He smiled at her, but she didn’t return it. She just continued to watch him with that watchful, focused gaze of hers that made him feel like she was scrutinising his every expression and move. Although he fancied she did relax just a hair from her tense, rigid stance. He was aware of the other members of his team — plus Vincent — watching the two of them, but they were apparently happy to leave the speaking to him.  
  
“I’m fine, thank you,” she said, after a moment. She glanced down at her hand and then at the bench, where the graphite chunk had stood. “At least I didn’t have to pick shrapnel out of my hands and forearms this time,” she muttered.  
  
Kieran blinked.  
  
“This time?” Nick asked curiously, getting the question out a fraction of a second before Kieran did.  
  
Astrid flushed, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I detonated a cellphone once. Accidentally.” She frowned. “Although I think I could do it deliberately if I wanted to. Um, not that I want to.” She paused, took a breath, and continued in a more level tone. “But that wasn’t like this at all. I don’t know why this happened.”  
  
Kieran found himself idly wondering if they had any old cellphones lying around somewhere, but he pushed that thought aside for now to concentrate on the more immediate subject.  
  
“Well, let’s try to figure it out,” Kieran said cheerfully. “I think I have an idea, but can you take me through exactly what happened, from your perspective?”  
  
“I tried to achieve the objective,” she said, her phrasing making Kieran raise his eyebrows a little. “I studied the structure of the diamond.” She nodded towards Curtis’ paperweight, which had — perhaps unsurprisingly — escaped the small blast completely unscathed. “And then I attempted to shift the graphite structure to match. But that approach didn’t work, so I then manipulated the bonds directly. I couldn’t just shift them around, though, so I had to break and reform them, and I…” She trailed off, her expression thoughtful. “I broke them all,” she said, realisation dawning in her eyes. “Simultaneously.”  
  
“You atomised the whole thing?” Curtis asked, and he looked like he was starting to put two and two together.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “Was it-?“ she started to ask, and then broke off, looking uncertain.  
  
“Go on,” Kieran said encouragingly. He was all about encouraging people to figure things out on their own if they could — he knew he certainly tended to learn better that way — and he had a feeling that Astrid might be on the right track.  
  
“Was it spontaneous ignition?” she asked. “Like with a dust explosion?”  
  
“I think so,” Kieran said, pleased that she’d got there without prompting. (It really did feel a little like guiding a project student.) He grinned from ear to ear, which, thinking about it, probably wasn’t entirely appropriate given the circumstances that had led to this conversation, but whatever.  
  
“But wouldn’t that need a heat source?” she asked, sounding more interested than hesitant this time.  
  
“Not necessarily,” Curtis chimed in. “A few spontaneous reactions to generate a little bit of heat and…whoomph! Ignition. And this was atomic carbon dust, which made it even easier!” He sounded quite excited.  
  
“When it happens, it can happen pretty fast,” Kieran added. “As you found out.”  
  
“Yeah,” she muttered, her flush deepening.  
  
“Hey, don’t worry,” Mel piped up, grinning. “I think accidentally blowing yourself up makes you an honorary chemist. Extra credit for exploding something that doesn’t usually explode. And, look on the bright side: at least you still have your eyebrows.”  
  
“At least there’s that,”Astrid murmured. She returned Mel’s smile, but she still seemed distinctly ill at ease, and the smile faded when she turned back to Kieran. “I’m sorry I didn’t manage to successfully complete the task,” she said, surprising him. “And I’m sorry about your bench.”  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. He really, really, really could have done with a little voice in his ear right now, but his earbud remained unhelpfully silent. In the absence of any advice on how to comfort a worried teenage parahuman — and, honestly, he was more worried about the ‘teenage’ part of the equation than the ‘parahuman’ bit — he went with what he knew. “It’s not your fault,” he continued. “Accidents happen, especially when you’re trying something new. You can’t expect every first attempt to work perfectly, and part of this evaluation will involve testing the limits of your ability.” It was really hard to tell whether or not he was getting through to her. Her demeanour didn’t really give much away, although she still seemed kind of tense. “Anyway,” he tried. “You know what they say about failure: it’s just another step on the road to success.”  
  
Astrid stared at him for a moment. “I’ve… never heard that particular saying before,” she said carefully.  
  
“Kieran says it a lot,” Curtis supplied helpfully, smiling at her. “Along with: ‘You can often learn more from failure than success,’ and other such fun proverbs.” He leaned in a little and mock-whispered: “In that case, I must have learned a shit-tonne of stuff.”  
  
Astrid laughed, and then broke off, looking almost guilty for a moment before her expression smoothed to blankness again.  
  
“Anyway,” Kieran said, deciding it was time to try to get this whole thing back on track. “Have you ever done anything like this before? Caused something to spontaneously ignite, I mean.”  
  
“No,” Astrid said, frowning. “I mean, I’ve disintegrated things, like I showed you earlier. But the dust has never exploded before. Then again, I guess I didn’t atomise the substances in question.”  
  
“Or they weren’t reactive, enough, or dense enough, or the heat was dissipated faster than it could build up…” Mel observed, studying Astrid thoughtfully.  
  
“Might want to be careful about disintegrating things in the future,” Nick said.  
  
“Yeah,” she replied, looking a little disturbed for a moment before shaking it off and turning to Kieran with a determined expression. “May I try that again? Now I know what I did wrong, I won’t make the same mistake again.  
  
Kieran’s instinctive reaction was to say no; it was too dangerous. However, before he could voice it, Kimberly said: “Please let her try.”  
  
“Okay,” he said, reluctantly. “We do have plenty of graphite, I suppose…”  
  
“I’ll get another piece,” Curtis said, suiting the action to the words. He set it down atop the scorch mark from the previous attempt.  
  
Astrid looked at the people clustered around the bench. “You might want to take a few steps back, just in case,” she said, and gave them a small, wry smile. “I’m reasonably confident I’m not going to atomise it again, but that doesn’t mean I want to risk anyone other than myself.”  
  
Kieran considered banishing everyone except Curtis back upstairs again. It was the general policy for power evaluations, after all. But he didn’t think they were really in any danger — directive or no directive, he wouldn’t be allowing this to go ahead at all if he really thought it was too great a risk. Plus, Astrid didn’t seem to mind, and Kimberly hadn’t said anything, so he figured he might as well let them stay. He could always shoo them away afterwards.  
  
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Vince asked Astrid quietly, looking concerned. “You don’t have to, you know.”  
  
Was that part of the script? Kimberly hadn’t said anything, at least not on the group channel. Although Kieran supposed she could have spoken to Vince privately. In any case, Astrid gave him a slightly confused look.  
  
“It’s fine,” she said. “Anyway, I want to get this right.”  
  
“As you wish,” he murmured, stepping back to join the others. Yas rolled her eyes, and some of the others seemed amused. Hugh leaned in to say something to him, sotto voce. Vince shrugged and gave him a smile, murmuring something in response.  
  
“Just be careful,” Kieran told Astrid. “I don’t care about the bench, but I do care about your fingers. Please don’t burn yourself again.”  
  
“I’ll try not to,” she said.  
  
“Good.” When she didn’t begin right away, he added: “Whenever you’re ready.”  
  
Nodding, Astrid put her right hand on the diamond block, her eyes getting that faraway look. After a moment, she touched the granite block lightly with the tip of one finger of her left hand. Kieran wasn’t sure if it was one of the burned ones. He mentally crossed his fingers that the experiment would work this time, more for Astrid’s sake — both because he didn’t want her to burn her fingers again and because she seemed so determined — than because he would actually mind if it didn’t. Although it would be cool if she could change one allotrope into another…  
  
Okay, maybe his mentally crossed fingers weren’t just for her benefit.  
  
A moment went by…  
  
And then the surface of the graphite burst into flame.  
  
“Hellfire and damnation!” Astrid growled, pulling her hand away.  
  
“At least it didn’t explode that time,” Mel observed.  
  
Under other circumstances, someone here — quite possibly Kieran himself — would likely have commented on Astrid’s unusual choice of curse, but for the moment there was a more pressing concern.  
  
Before Kieran could ask if she Astrid was okay, she glanced over and said: “May I use that?” She was pointing at a block of steel left over from the previous manipulation experiments.  
  
“Sure,” he said, a little bemused.  
  
“Thank you.” Astrid touched the metal, and it flowed over the smouldering lump of carbon. “I almost had it,” she murmured. “But I got distracted when the loose bonds started reacting.”  
  
“You mean when it caught on fire?” Curtis asked, laughing a little in disbelief.  
  
“Yes,” she replied absently. “But it should be out now.”  
  
“Maybe you should…” Leave it for the moment, Kieran was about to say.  Or even, maybe, give it up altogether as a bad job. But a gap opened up in the metal and Astrid had poked a finger through it before he’d decided which option was going to go with.  
  
He decided he might as well wait and see what happened. As it turned out, he didn’t have to wait all that long before the metal peeled back to reveal… a pile of glittering ash.  
  
“Goddammit,” Astrid breathed, giving the pile a disgusted look. The steel, Kieran noted, crept up over her hand to disappear under her sleeve.  
  
He debated for a moment whether to say anything, but decided to leave it for now.  
  
“Let me have a look?” he asked instead.  
  
Astrid twitched a little at the sound of his voice and stepped aside to give him room to move in. “Of course,” she said quietly, standing up straight. He fished a pen out of one of his pockets and used the end of it to stir the dust. Everyone else — except Yas — seemed to take that as their cue to crowd around again.  
  
“How’s your hand?” he heard Yas ask Astrid.  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
“Let me see.” Astrid must have shown her, because a moment later, she continued: “Go and run it under the tap again, just to make sure.”  
  
“Looks like she managed to make diamond dust, at least,” Curtis said.  
  
“Yes,” Kieran nodded, poking at a lump in the dust that turned out to be a tiny seed diamond. It was probably about a millimetre across at most, but it was something. It certainly wasn’t graphite. There were a few more such lumps, scattered here and there, but the bulk of the pile seemed to be mainly graphite dust. Or possibly charcoal; it was hard to tell when it was in this state. In any case, it was sprinkled with minuscule, glittering specks even smaller than the seed diamonds.  
  
_Diamond dust,_ he mused.  
  
“And, like I said: it didn’t explode,” Mel said.  
  
“I hope Astrid’s alright,” Vince murmured. Kieran looked around to see him glancing in the direction of the sink with a concerned expression. “I’m supposed to be looking after her.” He looked back at the team, grinning ruefully. “Although maybe don’t tell her I said that. She didn’t seemed to appreciate me saying it earlier.”  
  
“Your secret’s safe with us,” Curtis assured him, grinning.  
  
“You realise she’s a cape, right?” Nick said, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Out of the two of you, who do you think’s most likely to be looking after who?”  
  
“There are different ways to look after someone,” Vince replied, keeping his smile, and his easy tone. “And I have done this before.”  
  
“You might want to put a pin in that thought for now,” Hugh murmured. “They’re heading back over here.”  
  
Kieran stepped back, greeting the pair of them with a smile. “What’s the verdict?” he asked, directing the question at both of them.  
  
“It’s fine,” Astrid said.  
  
“Not significantly worse than before,” Yas said at the same time. “Fortunately.” She turned to Astrid, smiling wryly. “I strongly recommend you don’t burn yourself again.”  
  
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Astrid told her, the ghost of a smile flickering around her lips. Kieran was not entirely surprised when it flickered out of existence altogether as she turned back to him. “May I try again?” she asked. “I almost had it that time, and I really do think I can make it work.”  
  
“Third’s time the charm?” he asked, dubiously.  
  
“Something like that,” Astrid murmured.  
  
He was tempted to say yes; to see if she really could turn the whole graphite block into diamond. Preferably without anything exploding or being set on fire. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to take the risk. He really didn’t want her to burn her fingers again. Anyway, the fact that she’d gotten some diamonds out of the second attempt proved that it was possible. The process clearly just needed some refinement. But refinement meant practice, and… wouldn’t that be better under supervision?  
  
“Please let her try one more time, Kieran,” said Kimberly, apparently tired of waiting for him to make up his mind. He wondered why she hadn’t spoken up right away.  
  
Maybe she’d also been having trouble deciding.  
  
“Okay,” he said, with a strange mix of reluctance and eager curiosity. “One more attempt. But that’s it. And please do not burn yourself this time.”  
  
“I won’t,” she said, sounding oddly confident considering she’d done that twice already.  
  
“I’ll get the graphite,” Curtis said, doing just that.  
  
Everyone else backed away a little, Kieran included. Astrid stepped towards the bench.  
  
“Do you want me to clear that away?” she asked uncertainly, gesturing at the remains of the last attempt.  
  
“No, that’s okay,” Kieran said. “I want to take a closer look at it later.”  
  
“I know we brought some sample boxes over with the rest of the gear,” Mel volunteered. “I’ll find one after this.”  
  
“Thanks,” he said.  
  
Astrid reached out for the diamond again. But rather than touching the graphite right away, she covered it in metal first, leaving only a small gap.  
  
“Just in case,” she murmured, glancing up with a rueful grin. “Okay.”  
  
Squaring her shoulders, she reached out to touch the graphite. Nothing obvious happened right away. Kieran was cautiously hopeful about the fact that she didn’t curse and yank her hand back. A short while later, the metal flowed back to reveal… a mound of dust? Kieran was just trying to work out how to reassure her that it was okay; that the second attempt had been sufficient proof of concept and, anyway, no one expected her to completely master every single facet of her power right away. But then she brushed the dust away to reveal… a diamond.  
  
“Well done!” Kieran said, grinning broadly. “You did it!”  
  
There was a chorus of similar congratulatory sentiments from the rest of the team, but Astrid herself looked strangely… disappointed.  
  
“I didn’t change the whole block,” she said, frowning. “Maybe a third of it at most. The rest of it…” She stirred the dust with her finger. It didn’t seem to glitter as much as the dust produced during the previous attempt. “I couldn’t forge the bonds quickly enough to hold it together,” she continued. “Once a fragment isn’t part of the whole anymore, I can’t affect it without touching it directly, so it just fell to dust.”  
  
That was useful to know. But Kieran didn’t understand why she seemed so down about the whole thing.  
  
Curtis seemed to agree, giving Astrid a slightly puzzled smile. “I think you’re losing sight of the important thing here,” he said brightly. “You turned a chunk of graphite into diamond. Transmutation through force of will. How is that not awesome?”  
  
“It is cool,” she agreed, her expression softening a little. Kieran had noticed that she seemed to respond well to people praising her power, but he supposed that wasn’t so unusual.  
  
“And you didn’t burn yourself that time,” Yas said, giving a crooked smile. “That’s kind of awesome too.”  
  
“I wouldn’t have minded burning my fingers again if the fucking thing had worked *properly*,” Astrid muttered, giving the diamond a disgusted look. “It would have been worth it.”  
  
“Why would you even say that?” Vince said, looking ever-so-slightly horrified, which Kieran thought was something of an overreaction.  
  
“You’re definitely not a chemist, Vincent,” Mel quipped, grinning at him.  
  
“Or a bench scientist of any kind,” Curtis added.  
  
“Or an engineer,” Hugh said softly.  
  
Nick just shook his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. Yas sighed and rolled her eyes, but Kieran wasn’t sure if that was directed at Astrid or Vince. Maybe both.  
  
“Thankfully not,” Vince said, giving them all a very dubious look. “Because apparently all of those require having your survival instinct surgically removed.”  
  
“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Mel murmured.  
  
Kieran cleared his throat. “That’s enough of that,” he said, giving his people a quelling look. Not that he didn’t agree with them — and it wasn’t like he hadn’t ever risked personal injury while in pursuit of perfection — but he didn’t really think it was appropriate to encourage a minor to follow their example. And, speaking of encouragement… “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Astrid,” he said. “The experiment worked. Maybe not perfectly, but you can’t expect perfection right out of the gate.” He grinned. “Hell, sometimes we never get there at all. But this was definitely a very good first effort. All you need from here on out is practice.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he had a sudden feeling of foreboding. “Supervised practice,” he added, pushing away mental images of fireballs and towering infernos. “In the meantime, I think it’s time for a break.”  
  
“I’m fine to continue,” Astrid said earnestly.  
  
“Don’t bother,” Curtis told her, not without sympathy. “If Kieran decides you’re taking a break, then you’re taking a break.”  
  
“I don’t know why you’re complaining, Curtis,” Hugh said. “The last place I worked, daring to eat lunch away from your desk meant a whole afternoon of passive aggressive grumbling about people not being sufficiently committed to the project. All in all, I’d rather be nagged into taking breaks.”  
  
“Alright, people,” Kieran said. “Take this upstairs. And this time, stay up there until you’re called. This isn’t a spectator sport.”  
  
On reflection, perhaps having an audience had been an extra level of pressure Astrid didn’t need, even though she hadn’t seemed that fazed by it at the time. Not that he could really stop his team watching from upstairs — and would honestly be reluctant to do so in any case — but at least they wouldn’t be standing right there.  
  
There was a certain amount of grumbling at his words but, by and large, his people started heading in the right direction.  
  
“I’ll just get those sample containers before I head up,” Mel said.  
  
“I’ll help you look,” Curtis said. “And I’ll box up the samples.”  
  
“Thanks,  you two,” Kieran said absently. They headed off to the storage room where they’d stacked the rest of the stuff they’d brought out here, but Kieran’s attention was on Astrid, who still stood by the bench. Vince said something to her that Kieran couldn’t quite catch.  
  
“I’ll be there in a moment,” she told him, and walked over to the bench where she’d left her lab book. Vince frowned, but followed the others upstairs.  
  
“Kieran,” Kimberly said quietly. “Can you please take Astrid aside and reassure her that she’s not in any trouble? Oh, and you might want to ask her to give back that metal block.”  
  
He hadn’t even noticed that she’d taken it again. Presumably the sensors were telling the Psych team all sorts of things about Astrid’s stress levels right now, but a careful look at her was easily enough to tell him that she was on edge about something. He wasn’t entirely sure why she might think she was in trouble, though. Maybe over scorching the bench? That made sense, he supposed, although it hadn’t even occurred to him that she would still be worried about that. He’d certainly already forgotten about it.  
  
Mentally crossing his fingers that he’d do better at reassuring her this time, Kieran walked towards her. She glanced up and went still, her expression unreadable.  
  
“Astrid, can I have a quick word?” he said.  
  
“Of course,” she replied.  
  
The sound of Curtis and Mel bickering amiably floated in from the storeroom, and he decided that this probably wasn’t the place for a quiet chat.  
  
“Let’s head to the office,” he said. She nodded and started to put down her lab book again. “You can bring that with you if you want,” he added.  
  
“Thank you,” she said.  
  
“But would you mind leaving the steel on the bench?” he said. “We’ll be using that later.”  
  
“Oh!” she said, looking startled. “Sorry.” She held out her arm, and metal poured from her sleeve, forming a cube on the bench. It looked almost like she was filling an invisible container with liquid. She touched her finger briefly to the surface of the cube and the last remaining filament left her skin to join with the whole. When she’d finished, she turned to face him, standing with her back perfectly straight and her hands by her sides, one of them clutching her lab book tightly. “I didn’t mean to take it,” she told him earnestly, meeting his gaze. “It was just… habit, I suppose. I’m used to wearing my metal. I’m sorry.”  
  
“No harm done,” he assured her. “These things happen. I’ve lost count of the number of other people’s pens I’ve accidentally walked off with. It’s honestly embarrassing.”  
  
“I… see,” she said.  
  
He wasn’t entirely sure he’d succeeded in reassuring her, but he didn’t really want to continue this conversation here.  
  
“Anyway,” he said. “Let’s take this somewhere more private.”  
  
“Yes, S-” she said quietly, breaking off mid-word with a wince. “I mean, alright.”  
  
_Well,_ he thought, as he led her to the poky little ground floor office. _At least she didn’t actually call me Sir, that time._  
  
That was progress, right?

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Sorry about the mess,” Kieran said, glancing around at the clutter. “It isn’t all mine, I swear.” Although, honestly, a lot of it was. He just had a tendency to colonise all available space wherever he was. It was a habit. He knew exactly where everything important was, though. There was a system.  
  
“It’s fine,” Astrid said.  
  
“Take a seat, any seat,” he said. He pointed at the one he’d used earlier. “I recommend that one. It’s actually the most comfortable, despite the wear and tear.”  
  
“Don’t you want it?” she asked.  
  
“No, I’m fine wherever,” he said, choosing one at random and plonking himself down in it.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, seating herself with somewhat more grace. She raised her eyebrows slightly. “It’s… certainly more comfortable that the ones in the Brockton Bay PRT building,” she said.  
  
Kieran laughed. “I can believe that. The ones here at Northeast are no great shakes either, although I hear the ones in the offices and labs are better than the ones in the waiting rooms.”  
  
Astrid just nodded, watching him.  
  
“Don’t say anything further just yet,” Kimberly said. “Let her take the lead, if she will.”  
  
The resulting silence felt really kind of awkward to him. Possibly it did to Astrid, too, because she actually spoke.  
  
“May I ask… Kieran: is there a problem?”  
  
“No, of course not,” he said. “Why do you ask?”  
  
She took her time replying, and he didn’t need any prompting by Kimberly to let her have the time she needed.  
  
“I thought I might be in trouble for damaging the bench,” she said.  
  
“No, of course not,” he said, not even caring that he was repeating himself. “It was only a minor scorch mark. The ones in my labs have seen much worse, believe me. I’d actually forgotten about it.” Maybe he was rambling just a little, but he couldn’t quite seem to make himself stop. He was used to dealing with people who weren’t especially backward about coming forward. Not that some members of his team weren’t reserved — like Eliot, for example; he was fairly quiet — but none of them ever seemed quite so much like they were walking on eggshells. Once again, he was dismally aware that he was way outside his area of expertise here. “Anyway,” he continued. “Power evaluations often involve a certain amount of collateral damage. Unless you actually bring a building down on our heads, no one’s likely to so much as bat an eyelid.”  
  
To his surprise, she flinched.  
  
He stared at her.  
  
“Have you ever brought a building down?” he asked her carefully.  
  
“No,” she said, after a moment. “I haven’t.”  
  
“But… you think you could?”  
  
There was another pause, and then she said: “I’m not certain.”  
  
Well, that was a hedged answer if ever he heard one. He may not be used to dealing with teenagers, but he did know researchers of various stripes.  
  
_Fascinating…_  
  
“This is getting a little off-track,” Kimberly said swiftly. “And Astrid is getting severely stressed. Please reassure her that she’s doing well and that she isn’t in trouble.”  
  
“Anyway,” Kieran said, dragging himself away from wondering how big the largest building out on the Range was, and if anyone would miss it. “The point is, you don’t need to worry about it. You’re not in trouble, and you’re not going to be.” He smiled as reassuringly as he could. “You’re actually doing pretty well.”  
  
“I am?” she said, sounding surprised. “But I didn’t achieve the objective for the last test. Or for some of the others.”  
  
By that last part, he assumed she was referring to her difficulties with manipulating certain non-ductile solids.  
  
“Achieving every single objective isn’t necessarily the point,” he said, gently. “We don’t really know the parameters of your power right now, so we’re just throwing everything we can think of at you to see what sticks. A few misses here and there are only to be expected. I would be astounded if you manage everything we ask you to try, let alone doing so perfectly. Do you understand?”  
  
She thought about that for a moment. “I suppose so?”  
  
He suspected she hadn’t really intended that to be a question. Perhaps he hadn’t been convincing enough.  
  
“Look,” he said, hoping to do better this time. “General testing philosophies aside, let’s not lose sight of the fact that you actually did do what I asked. You turned graphite into diamond. I’d call that a success, wouldn’t you?”  
  
“I was always taught…” she started, and then trailed off.  
  
“Yes?” he prompted, when she didn’t show any signs of continuing.  
  
She seemed to tense a little, but Kimberly didn’t ask him to retract the question. Not that he didn’t have misgivings, but before he could make up his mind about what to say, Astrid spoke again.  
  
“I was always taught that anything less than perfection was considered a failure,” she said quietly.  
  
That sounded like something his grandmam might have said before she passed, probably during one of her rants about sin. Not that Kieran himself had many memories of the woman — one or two, maybe, from when he was very small — but his da had told him occasional stories of what it was like growing up with her. Usually when he’d had a few beers, or one of his rare tipples of harder stuff.  
  
(He wondered how Mam and Da were enjoying their latest road trip. They had the opposite problem to Liam — they never bothered updating their Facebook status at all. Hell, they barely even bothered with e-mail if they could help it. Not that they couldn’t take care of themselves, but that caravan of theirs was getting on a bit now — just like they were — and Kieran worried. The last postcard he’d received had been a good couple of weeks ago. Which didn’t necessarily mean anything, but… He’d have to see if Shannon had heard anything from them since then. She tended to be their main point of contact when they were somewhere with decent phone reception. Or a landline.)  
  
But that wasn’t helpful at all. He cast about for something useful to say.  
  
“Well, whoever told you that obviously wasn’t an engineer,” he said, eventually. He studied her thoughtfully. “Have you ever heard the saying: the perfect is the enemy of the good?”  
  
Astrid shook her head, looking confused. “No,” she said.  
  
“It means roughly that there is such a thing as ‘good enough’ and trying too hard for ‘perfect’ means you can lose sight of that. There’s nothing wrong with aiming for perfection, of course, but you have to accept that reaching it might not be possible. You have to know when to say ‘good enough.’ Otherwise you’re left with a project you’ll never finish. Or, worse, one you never even start. Does that make sense?”  
  
“I think so,” she said. She still sounded a little dubious, but it seemed to Kieran that she was at least thinking about his words rather than just dismissing them out of hand. So… good enough, he supposed. She gave him a considering look. “May I ask a question?”  
  
“Of course,” he said, wondering how many times he was going to have to repeat that until it stuck. “I did say you could.”  
  
“It isn’t about the testing,” she said. “It’s about your team.”  
  
“Fire away,” he said cheerfully. “They are a curious bunch, I’ll give you that.”  
  
She gave him an unfathomable look. “I was just wondering… You treat them like equals, not subordinates. So how do you maintain… order?”  
  
He didn’t think ‘order’ had been what she was intending to say. Setting that minor curiosity aside, though, he considered how best to answer her question.  
  
“Well, first of all, they’re not really subordinates,” he said slowly.  
  
“You’re the group head, though,” she said. “You’re in charge.”  
  
“Yes, technically, but it’s not that black and white.”  
  
She frowned. “It is in Medical,” she pointed out.  
  
“Yes, well. That’s Medical. This is ETA.” Astrid looked puzzled. “Sorry, Engineering, Technology and Applied Sciences,” he explained. “I probably should have mentioned that earlier. Anyway, the point is, we do things differently here. And, honestly, you’ll probably find that Medical is an exception, rather than the rule. But we’re getting a little side-tracked.”  
  
“Sorry,” she said quickly.  
  
“Not your fault; no need to apologise,” he said easily. “I’m perfectly capable of going off at a tangent without any prompting from anyone else. But my point is that we’re a team. And I see my role as more… guide and facilitator than, I don’t know, commander in chief.” He frowned. “Okay, I’m not too sure where that metaphor’s going. But what I was trying to say is that a large part of my job is about making sure that my people can do theirs. So it’s better if they feel comfortable coming to me with any concerns or ideas they may have.” He grinned. “And, you know, it’s a lot more fun for me if they talk to me like an actual human being. Even if it does mean putting up with jokes about my singing voice. Or lack thereof.”  
  
“I… see,” Astrid said, sounding like she didn’t, quite, but he had the feeling that he wasn’t really the right person to explain it to her.  
  
Anyway, time was ticking on.  
  
“Good,” he said. He looked at her thoughtfully. “So, worries aside, how are you finding the tests generally?”  
  
“Interesting,” she said. “It’s… fun, testing out my power on new things, and in new ways. And I’m certainly getting some ideas about other things to try out.” She glanced briefly down at her hands, and then met his gaze again, actually managing a smile, if a somewhat rueful one. “Carefully,” she added.  
  
“Glad to hear it,” he said, smiling back at her. “You know, if you ever want to bounce any of those ideas off someone, you’re welcome to contact me. Remind me to make sure I give you my e-mail address before you leave.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want to impose,” she said, hesitantly.  
  
“If it was an imposition, I wouldn’t offer,” he said. “Anyway, given what I’ve seen of your power so far, I figure there’s a better than even chance I might be asking you to come back and help with a project at some point in the future. It’s in my own interest to help you.”  
  
“You’d want my help?” she asked, looking utterly nonplussed.  
  
“My team’s all about figuring out practical uses for interactions between powers and so-called ‘normal’ matter,” he said. “Why wouldn’t we want your help? At the very least, you could probably assist with analysis, and I suspect you could do more. If that’s something you’d be interested in, of course.”  
  
“I would,” she said, looking overwhelmed but pleased. At least until her brow furrowed with concern and she added: “Although I don’t know if I’d be permitted to take time away from the Wards.”  
  
“There are procedures in place for this kind of thing,” he assured her. “We work with parahumans quite a bit, obviously. You’d even be paid for your time. But maybe I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. I mean, we haven’t even finished your evaluation yet, right?”  
  
“Right,” she echoed, actually sounding cheerful. “Are we going to continue now?”  
  
He couldn’t help smiling at her clear enthusiasm. Not to mention his relief at the fact that, overall, this little chat didn’t seem to have gone as badly as he’d feared.  
  
“Not just yet,” he said. “You’re taking a break, remember.”  
  
“Isn’t that what this was?” she asked, sounding puzzled.  
  
“Given that we were talking shop, no, it wasn’t,” he said. “Don’t worry, the testing schedule does allow time for rest and refreshment.” He stood. “Anyway, I don’t know about you, but now the adrenaline’s wearing off, I could definitely do with something caffeinated.”  
  
“I… wouldn’t mind a coffee, if that’s alright,” Astrid said. “And maybe an apple?”  
  
“Of course,” he said, standing up. “Let’s head upstairs.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

Kimberly leaned back in her chair, deliberately letting the silence stretch as she studied Astrid. For her part, Astrid cautiously returned the regard, apparently content to leave the gap in the conversation unfilled. Kimberly wasn’t entirely surprised. For all the things that seemed to cause Astrid discomfort, silence didn’t generally appear to be anywhere near the top of that list.  
  
The subject she wanted to discuss now, however, might well be.  
  
“I’d like you to tell me about school,” she said, her tone pleasant.  
  
“What would you like to know, Ma’am?” Astrid asked cautiously.  
  
“Anything that comes to mind,” Kimberly said, encouragingly.  
  
“Well, thinking about school definitely seems to stress her out a little,” Andrew observed.  
  
“I like to learn, Ma’am,” Astrid replied. “And my grades are good.” Her demeanour was wary, like she thought this might be a trap of some kind. Kimberly had a fair suspicion what that was about, more than merely Astrid’s apparently natural caution.  
  
The PRT liked to get hold of their Wards’ school records — grades, general behaviour, any other information that it might be useful for them to know. Sometimes it could take a while, mainly due to the identity protection issues: a request coming directly from the organisation known to deal with parahuman affairs would essentially out the parahuman in question, and no one wanted that. In Astrid’s case, however, her unfortunate home situation had provided the perfect cover — the request could legitimately be made by Brockton Bay CPS, as part of their ongoing investigation.  
  
Copies of the relevant information had been in Astrid’s file, so Kimberly knew the girl was practically a straight A student. However, she’d also been involved in a number of violent incidents. Details on those were fairly sparse — mostly little more than names (redacted, of course), dates and locations — but it had been flagged as a potential concern.  
  
Not that a tendency towards violent behaviour — or, at least, a willingness to engage in it — was necessarily enough to prevent someone being cleared for field work, of course. (If it was, she had a feeling that the Protectorate and the Wards would have far fewer members available to send out on patrol.) But it was still something they needed to investigate.  
  
The last thing the PRT needed was for one of their parahumans to lash out with their powers in a fit of temper. No one wanted that kind of PR fallout on their end of year evaluation.  
  
“Anything else?” Kimberly prompted, when Astrid showed no signs of continuing on her own.  
  
“Her pulse rate just spiked,” Andrew said quietly.  
  
Astrid took a deep, slow breath, and sat up a little straighter in her chair. “I’ve been in trouble a few times, Ma’am,” she said flatly.  
  
Kimberly was a little surprised that she’d actually volunteered that information.  
  
“Oh?” she said, her maintaining her demeanour of polite interest. It was important not to seem disapproving.  
  
“For fighting, Ma’am.”  
  
Kimberly made a note of the fact that Astrid had volunteered that information. She really was being extremely cooperative, almost surprisingly so. Not that Kimberly was complaining.  
  
“I see,” she said, and let the silence stretch. Astrid said nothing, merely watching her. Apparently, her cooperation didn’t generally extend as far as offering up information without being prompted by something that sounded like a question. Or an order. (That made it doubly interesting that she’d spoken up in defence of Vincent after the little show earlier. But Kimberly needed to concentrate on the matter of hand.) “Will you tell me about the fights?” she asked.  
  
“She is extremely agitated right now,” Andrew murmured, sounding concerned. “I recommend proceeding with caution.”  
  
That could be down to unpleasant memories, thoughts of violence itself — Kimberly didn’t think that likely — or fear of punishment. Nevertheless, Kimberly elected to let this play out a little further.  
  
She was curious as to whether the metal that Astrid seemed to have beneath her sleeves was in motion at the moment. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see from this angle, and it would be fairly obvious if she leaned down to look. Presumably Andrew would warn her if it seemed like there was actually any danger.  
  
Distantly, she noted that Andrew had made no mention of any disturbance of the tremor sensors, so it seemed that, despite her anxiety, Astrid wasn’t reaching any further afield to manipulate her environment. That was good.  
  
“What do you want to know, Ma’am?” Astrid asked, just like she had earlier.  
  
“Whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me,” Kimberly said, her tone reassuring.  
  
Astrid was quiet for a little while. Kimberly waited patiently. (This line of work required a lot of patience. And a great deal of comfort with silence.)  
  
“I don’t look for trouble, Ma’am,” she said eventually. “And I try to follow the rules.” She hesitated, and then, very quietly, added: “But sometimes you have to fight.”  
  
That was an interesting way of phrasing it.  
  
“Oh?” Kimberly prompted.  
  
For a brief moment, something that looked a lot like panic flashed across Astrid’s face, before being replaced by studied blankness.  
  
“I’m not trying to make excuses, Ma’am,” she said in a neutral tone.  
  
“I didn’t think you were.” Kimberly made her words as reassuring as she could. Astrid seemed to need it, and she didn’t think anything worthwhile would be gained by pushing her further at this point.  
  
Astrid took a slow, deep breath. “Am I going to be… I mean, am I in trouble, Ma’am?”  
  
“No, Astrid,” Kimberly said gently. “Like I said before, no one’s going to punish you for anything you tell me here.”  
  
The look Astrid gave her then was sharp; suspicious and disbelieving. But she smoothed her expression to neutrality, and all she said aloud, was:  
  
“I see, Ma’am. Thank you.”  
  
It was clearly time to change the subject.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Yasmeena_ **

 

“What an entitled, arrogant jackass,” Yasmeena muttered under her breath, watching Vincent schmooze his way around her colleagues. She leaned back in her chair, cursing under her breath as it tipped further than she expected, causing her to wobble precariously for a moment.  
  
“I don’t know, Yas,” Melanie murmured back, reaching over to grab the arm of her chair, allowing her to steady herself. “He doesn’t seem so bad to me. And he is kind of cute.”  
  
“And knows it,” Yasmeena sniffed. “Anyway, he’s not all that.”  
  
“What’s got your goat?” Melanie asked, eyeing her curiously. “He’s barely even said anything yet.” She blew on the surface of her tea, trying to cool the hot liquid enough to drink.  
  
“You know,” Yasmeena said. “Instead of those fruity, flowery, frou frou tisanes, you could actually try drinking proper tea — you know, the kind you can actually add milk to. Or, better yet, coffee. Then you’d be able to drink it right away, rather than having to wait forever and a day for it to cool.”  
  
“I happen to like herbal tea,” Melanie pointed out, quite unreasonably. She smirked. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with a little delayed gratification every now and then. Maybe you should try it sometime.”  
  
Yasmeena rolled her eyes. “ **Anyway** ,” she said. “To return to the subject at hand: it’s not so much what Vincent said, as the way he said it.” She tried not to feel defensive about her perfectly reasonable opinion. “All that fake self-deprecation, and trying to be charming when you can practically see him looking down his nose at us. And he called us the Props Department!”  
  
“You’re the one who went off at a tangent in the first place,” Melanie said sweetly. “And half the campus calls us that. More than half, even. He’s only an intern: he probably doesn’t know any better. Anyway, I don’t see why it bothers you so much. It’s kind of a cute nickname.” She took an experimental sip of tea, winced, and blew on it some more.  
  
Yasmeena wasn’t even going to dignify her words with a response. Melanie was almost as bad as Curtis in that regard. Or Kieran. They seemed more amused by the moniker than anything else. But it wasn’t like Yasmeena was on her own here. She knew Joy and Hugh hated it too. Eliot, she wasn’t sure about. He didn’t tend to say much of anything about anything. Nick… It depended what mood he was in.  
  
But she was getting distracted from what was important: the fact that Vincent was a jackass.  
  
“He’s dressed like this is a… a photoshoot, not a power evaluation,” she said, glaring daggers at the back of his perfectly coiffed head. “And all designer labels, no doubt. I’ll bet any one of those items probably costs more than I spend on clothes in a month!”  
  
Now she was reasonably confident that her chair wasn’t about to tip over and spill her to the floor, she reached out — carefully, trying to move her centre of mass as little as possible — and snagged her own drink: a nice, milky coffee. She grinned at Melanie over the cup as she drank, thus proving the superiority of her own beverage choices.  
  
Melanie waited until she had a mouth full of coffee — and, therefore, couldn’t respond right away — to say, slyly: “I seem to remember you said something similar about me, when I started here. How did you put it? Oh, right: like I’d gotten lost on the way to senior prom. That I’d probably run out of the lab crying the first time I spilled something on my nice clothes. And, my personal favourite: Science Simone. Like it was the first time I’d ever heard that nickname before.”  
  
Yasmeena winced. “I did apologise for that,” she said. “For all of it.”  
  
“Eventually,” Melanie said, grinning.  
  
“Eventually,” Yasmeena agreed. “But, anyway, that’s different. You saved up for those nice clothes. And you worked hard to get where you are. I know you never expected anything to be handed to you on a silver platter.”  
  
“And you know he does?”  
  
Yasmeena gave her a disgusted look. “Please. It’s obvious he comes from money. Anyway, I know his type.”  
  
Yeah, she knew his type alright. She’d seen them a thousand and one times before. The brats at her high school who sneered at her for being a scholarship kid. The customers she waited on in the fancy restaurant she worked at for a while; one of many jobs that helped to put her through college and grad school. The people who thought that, just because their families had enough money to buy and sell hers several times over, just because they had *things, they were somehow better than her.  
  
“I think you might be reading a little too much into this,” Melanie said, diplomatically. “Maybe you should try looking past that chip on your shoulder. Don’t get so hung up on assumptions, you know? You admitted you were wrong about me — hard though I know that was for you — so… Maybe there’s a chance you could be wrong about him?”  
  
“That chip on my shoulder got me where I am today,” Yasmeena said. “But,” she continued grudgingly. “Maybe you have a point.”  
  
“I frequently do,” Melanie said, nudging her companionably.  
  
Yasmeena glowered at her, or tried to. She couldn’t quite put her heart into it. Instead, she sent another glare in Vincent’s direction. Somehow, she had no trouble mustering up that.  
  
“Although,” she muttered. “You have to admit, he did look us over like we were pieces of meat.”  
  
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Melanie said, laughing softly. “But… I suppose he did check us out. Although, in the interests of fairness, I should point out that I checked him out too.”  
  
“That’s not the same thing and you know it,” Yasmeena said. “There’s a difference between appreciating someone and… and appraising them.”  
  
The latter she’d seen time and again in high school, in college, in grad school… People she’d hoped would see her as a colleague and a peer reducing her in their mind to nothing more than something to look at. That by itself would have been bad enough, but they inevitably had the gall to act as though she should be grateful for the attention. And if she complained — or, heaven forbid, told them she wasn’t interested — then she was a bitch, or worse.  
  
Which was fine. She didn’t care about that. What she did care about was when they were too busy looking to actually listen; when her ideas were ignored, or dismissed out of hand. Or, worse, when her ideas were ignored, only to be later hailed when someone else voiced them.  
  
And she knew Melanie had experienced the same thing. They’d talked about it; commiserated about it. Laughed about it, even, eventually; although it was a bitter kind of laughter to be sure. In point of fact, that had been the first real non-work-related conversation the two of them had ever had.  
  
(Melanie had finally tired of Yasmeena’s own jackass-ness — because she had been a jackass to Mel back then, and she wasn’t too proud to admit it — and had told her that they were going out for a drink; just the two of them. Yasmeena had gone along with it more out of curiosity than anything else. She’d half-expected Melanie to break down crying and ask her why she was so mean. Instead, Melanie had calmly said that she thought they’d gotten off on the wrong foot and asked her what the problem was. Honestly, Yasmeena hadn’t really needed much of an excuse to vent. Her mom hadn’t been diagnosed yet, but they were just starting to realise that she was suffering from something more than simple absent-mindedness and, honestly, she’d actually been glad of the chance to take out all of that frustration and anger and fear on someone.)  
  
(She wasn’t sure exactly how she’d expected Melanie to respond. To yell at her, maybe, or to crumple. Melanie did neither. She’d simply pointed out that Yasmeena knew nothing about her. And then she’d set about fixing that.)  
  
(It wasn’t like they’d suddenly become best friends or anything, but it had been something. It had cleared the air, certainly. And after that, it was like they could start over, without all the baggage and the false assumptions getting in the way. Nowadays, Melanie was probably Yasmeena’s best friend on the team, apart from Kieran. She was certainly her best female friend, hands down, in pretty much any context.)  
  
“There is,” Melanie said. “But you really have no idea what’s going on inside his head.” She grinned. “I’m not saying you have to like the guy or anything, but… maybe try not to hate him right off the bat? Like I said: look past that chip on your shoulder a little.”  
  
“Don’t want to,” Yasmeena muttered. She liked that chip on her shoulder. And it was oddly freeing, to be able to dismiss him so completely out of hand. It meant she didn’t have to care about him judging her.  
  
Because she knew he was judging her.  
  
People like him, they always did.  
  
Melanie rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” She stood up, managing to do so without so much as spilling a drop of her tea. “I’m going to take a look at this parahuman girl we’re testing today. Feel free to join me if you want.”  
  
“I doubt anything exciting’s happening just yet,” Yasmeena said, but she got up — setting her cup down first, because she didn’t trust the chair; only picking it up again when she was safely on her feet — and followed Melanie to the window anyway.  
  
She was a little curious, after all.  
  
She also felt kind of sorry for the girl. After all, she’d had to put up with Vincent’s dubious company all day.  
  
And he was such a **jackass**.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

_Okay,_ Yasmeena thought, grudgingly. _Maybe he’s not a complete jackass._  
  
Part of her wanted to dismiss his apparent concern for Astrid in the wake of her little mishap as just an attempt to wheedle his way into the young parahuman’s good graces. Unfortunately, and much as it galled her to admit that he might have any good qualities at all, she didn’t really think it was. In any event, if it was an attempt to curry favour with Astrid, she wasn’t entirely sure it was working as intended.  
  
“You’re sure you’re alright?” he asked, for about the third time in as many minutes.  
  
“I told you, I’m fine,” Astrid said, her words edged with impatience. “It’s barely even a burn at all. This is just a precaution.” ’This’ being holding her fingers under cold running water. She turned to look at Yasmeena now. “I think it’s been long enough.”  
  
“Another couple of minutes,” Yasmeena said firmly. “Better safe than sorry.”  
  
It didn’t actually look that bad. It certainly wasn’t any worse than anything Yasmeena had done to herself during her first few forays into playing with electricity and circuitry. But, like she’d said, better safe than sorry.  
  
She was half-expecting Astrid to argue with her, but although she looked like she wanted to, the girl just nodded silently and kept her hand where it was.  
  
“So, can you actually sense the water?” she asked, curious.  
  
“I can sense it,” Astrid said, sounding thoughtful. “I can’t really do much with it, though. It’s not… bounded like solid matter. It doesn’t feel like an object. So I can only affect the part I’m in direct contact with, and I can’t really do all that much with it.”  
  
She was aware of Vincent standing next to them, listening with apparent interest, but he thankfully kept his mouth shut.  
  
“Can you affect gases at all?” Yasmeena asked. Because if she could sense molecules in contact with her skin, then maybe…  
  
But Astrid was already shaking her head. “I can’t even sense them,” she said. “At least, I can’t sense the air. Maybe something denser, but I don’t know if I’d be able to manipulate it.”  
  
“Well, I know Melanie’s got some gases and solutions for you to to play around with in a bit,” Yasmeena said.  
  
Astrid frowned. “I hope Dr Bailey won’t be too… disappointed if I can’t do anything with them.”  
  
From the little she’d seen of Astrid so far, she really did seem to be a very serious girl. And she was clearly very driven. Yasmeena approved. She herself certainly hated feeling like she’d failed at anything, even if success was extremely unlikely. Or even impossible. She was sure that other people would have explained to Astrid that this wasn’t exactly a pass or fail kind of situation, but she doubted that it had helped.  
  
It wouldn’t have helped her, after all.  
  
“This really isn’t that kind of test,” Vincent said earnestly, giving Astrid an encouraging smile. The look Astrid gave him in return was deeply sceptical, confirming Yasmeena’s suspicion.  
  
“In any case, that’s not really Kieran’s way,” she said, shrugging. “He’s more of a ‘focus on the positives’ kind of guy. There’s no point getting hung up on the things you can’t do. Work out what you can do, and then find ways to do them better. That’s what this evaluation is about: helping to to make the most effective use of your power. If one thing doesn’t work, we’ll just try something else. And it seems like you can do plenty already.”  
  
Astrid was quiet for a few moments, looking thoughtful. “Thanks,” she said.  
  
Honestly, Yasmeena would be surprised if her words made much of a difference today, but maybe afterwards, when Astrid was picking her actions apart and second-guessing her every move — if she really was anything like Yasmeena — maybe it would help her then.  
  
In any case, it wasn’t like this was really her forté. Kieran was far better at handling people than she was. Not that she was bad at it, but she had her limits.  
  
“Anyway,” she said, relieved to turn the conversation back to something she was actually confident with. “Let’s have a look at those fingers of yours.” Without a word, Astrid turned the tap off and dried her hand on a paper towel, holding it out for Yasmeena to take a look at. “They look okay to me,” she said, nodding. “There’s no blistering or broken skin. I can put bandaids on them if you want, but I’m not sure there’s any real need.”  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Astrid said. She smiled. “Besides, I need to be able to touch things.”  
  
“But, doesn’t it hurt?” Vincent asked, looking rather more disturbed than Yasmeena thought the situation really warranted.  
  
“Hardly,” Astrid said, looking slightly offended. “This is nothing. I’ve been burned way worse than this before and still managed to function just fine.”  
  
“How?” Vincent asked, with an air of horrified fascination.  
  
Astrid went still, her expression closed off. “Hot metal,” she said.  
  
Now Vincent’s expression was mostly horrified. “What happened?”  
  
“I did something stupid,” Astrid said flatly. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Vincent said, and he was either genuinely contrite or he was doing a very good impression of it. “I shouldn’t have asked.”  
  
Yasmeena wondered if the Psych liaison had just had a word in his ear. Or maybe she was the one who’d prompted him to ask in the first place. It was hard to tell with Psych. Sometimes they seemed to do the most random things for the most ineffable reasons. Presumably they knew what they were doing, though. Or, at least, they thought they did.  
  
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” Astrid said, still in that same, flat tone.  
  
“I certainly have enough of my own tales of stupidity-induced injuries,” Yasmeena said lightly, wondering why she was trying to dig this jackass out of a hole of his own making. “I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve burned my fingers on hot wires. And don’t even get me started on soldering iron-related accidents.” She grinned, holding out her own, lightly burn-speckled hands. (But only lightly, and none of it was particularly recent. Because she might have done some foolish things in her youth, but she wasn’t actually an idiot, and she did learn from her mistakes.) “It’s kind of a rite of passage.”  
  
Astrid gave her the most peculiar look. But Vincent’s eyes were also turned her way, which was kind of what she’d been aiming for, his expression morphing from horrified to intrigued  
  
“Sounds like you have a few stories to tell,” he said, his tone inviting.  
  
“Maybe,” she said, managing to muster up a wry smile. “But now isn’t really the time. Kieran will be fretting.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Astrid said, giving Yasmeena a look like she couldn’t quite tell whether she was being serious.  
  
Yasmeena shrugged. “Well, let’s go and tell him that.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Vincent_ **

 

Vincent looked up when he saw movement in the doorway, but it turned out to be Curtis and Melanie, not Astrid and Kieran.  
  
Now, Melanie was clearly someone who knew a thing or two about dressing well. He wasn’t entirely convinced about the purple streaks in her hair — a little too bohemian for his tastes — but he supposed such eccentricity could be charming in its own way.  
  
Curtis glanced around the room, looking puzzled. “Are Kieran and Astrid still downstairs?” he asked, directing the question at the group as a whole. “I didn’t see them when we came up.”  
  
It felt to Vincent like every eye in the room turned to him. Fortunately, he was not unused to being the centre of attention. He returned their gazes with a blandly pleasant smile, wondering who would be the first to prod.  
  
He was actually starting to wonder if another purpose of the evaluations was to test the evaluators’ own responses. He knew there were psychologists and sociologists studying the ways that people from various strata of society behaved around parahumans. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn that they used the cape evaluations as a source of data. He doubted that his contract of employment was the only one to be a little vague about the scope of the ‘consent to work with parahumans’ and ‘consent to participate in parahuman-related research and testing’ parts.  
  
“Do you know something, Vincent?” Yasmeena asked. To her credit, she managed not to bark the words; it did actually sound like a question, rather than a demand. He knew she’d taken some kind of dislike to him, but he wasn’t entirely certain why. It wasn’t as if he’d actually expressed his opinion of her attire out loud.  
  
She was actually dressed not unlike Gary, only with some kind of obscure geek reference — he assumed — on her T-shirt in place of the name of an unknown band. But while that outfit on Gary had been merely unfortunate, on her it was nothing short of a full blown tragedy. She could be so beautiful if she actually made an effort. A skirt in place of jeans, perhaps. He supposed a T-shirt in and of itself wouldn’t be so bad in a lab environment, as long as it was properly fitted and sized. Anything but that over-large sack of a garment. And her hair… It deserved so much more than being dragged back into a messy ponytail.  
  
Her posture could also do with some work. The way she stood square on with chin up and her hands on her hips… It was very challenging, in a not at all feminine way.  
  
But he had very carefully kept those thoughts to himself. Volunteering them unsolicited would have been nothing short of rude, and rudeness was definitely something he preferred to avoid. He was confident that he’d be able to win her over given time, but he wasn’t certain whether today would be sufficient. Still, that wouldn’t stop him trying.  
  
“I believe that Kieran and Astrid are having a chat,” he said, carefully.  
  
He knew that for a fact, of course. Kimberly had told him as much on his private channel, after making the request of Kieran on his. She’d also requested that Vincent speak with Astrid when she came up to the break room; asking him to try to draw her out a little, and to encourage her to interact with the other members of the evaluating team if he could.  
  
He was honestly a little flattered at the obvious trust Kimberly placed in his abilities. But then, Juliet’s speculation aside, he already knew his looks weren’t the only reason he kept being asked to play Friday.  
  
“Some kind of Psych thing?” Nick asked. (Vincent wasn’t sure what it was, but something about Nick reminded him of the bodyguards his family had employed when he was younger. It seemed strange, especially considering that Nick was confined to a wheelchair, but nevertheless it was a feeling that he couldn’t shake.)  
  
“You know I can’t answer that,” Vincent said wryly, making sure to look him directly in the eyes. Not that he would ever do anything so gauche as to stare at the man’s chair, but better to leave no doubt that he saw the man and not the disability. In any case, Nick seemed like the kind of person who responded well to eye contact.  
  
“That’s a yes, then,” Nick murmured, sounding amused. “Don’t worry, I won’t push for details.”  
  
“I appreciate that,” Vincent told him, glad that he understood.  
  
When it was clear no further information was forthcoming, people turned their attention elsewhere, resuming previous conversations, starting new ones, checking phones, getting refreshments… The usual kind of behaviour among people expecting to spend a long period of time waiting around together. Vincent had been talking to Eliot, but the other man had apparently decided to get on with some reading. Before he could decide who to approach, Nick wheeled himself a little closer.  
  
“You said you’ve done this before,” he said without preamble.  
  
It took Vincent a moment to work out what he was referring to, but then he remembered their brief conversation downstairs, after Astrid had burned her fingers for the second time.  
  
“Escorted capes around? Yes, a few times now,” Vincent said easily, wondering where this was going.  
  
“You like it?”  
  
He didn’t even need to think about his answer to that one. “Yes, I do. I get to meet a lot of interesting people, and I’ve certainly learned a lot. It’s been a worthwhile experience.”  
  
“You’re not worried for your safety?  
  
Vincent honestly wasn’t sure whether or not Nick was actually joking. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were sparkling, and he sounded amused. After a moment’s consideration, Vincent decided to take the question at face value.  
  
“No, not really. I mean, they’re just people.” He gave a wry, self-deprecating grin. “I’ve managed to go through life so far without provoking people into committing acts of violence, so I don’t see why this would be any different. I doubt I have any particular reason to worry.”  
  
(Okay, perhaps he wasn’t quite so blasé as he claimed. He had a healthy respect for parahuman abilities, after all, and he knew that the capes who came here to be evaluated were often under a great deal of stress. Dr Ross had made it clear that this role was not without risks. But she’d also made it clear that, unless instructed otherwise, he was not to behave as though he considered himself to be at risk. Self-fulfilling prophecies, he assumed. Treat someone like they were a bomb about to go off and, well… He definitely understood the reasoning. Fortunately, this kind of thing came easily to him.)  
  
(Most of the time, he even managed to convince himself.)  
  
“Maybe,” Nick said, noncommittally. “Any of them ever lost control of their power?”  
  
“If they had, I couldn’t tell you,” Vincent replied, his tone light. “I’m sure you know that.” They all knew that, or should. Which, of course, never stopped them asking questions.  
  
“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” At least Nick seemed to take his non-answer in good humour.  
  
“Not at all,” Vincent said. He eyed Nick thoughtfully, wondering if this was a good opportunity to bring up something that had been on his mind. “So,” he continued. “Since we seem to be playing twenty questions…”  
  
“Ask,” Nick said, cautiously.  
  
“I was just wondering,” Vincent said. “I hope it’s not too much of an imposition, but… Will you tell me about Brockton Bay?”  
  
“Why?” The question seemed more curious than reluctant or hostile, despite its brevity.  
  
“Because it’s where Astrid’s from,” he explained, simply. “I’ve read the overview in her file, and I’ve done some research of my own, but it’s not the same as speaking to a native.” He shrugged. “Or, at least, someone who’s lived there.”  
  
“You think it’ll help you do your job, better? Knowing where she’s from?”  
  
“I figure it can’t hurt,” Vincent said. Asking Astrid herself about her background was off-limits, unless either Kimberly prompted him to do so or Astrid herself volunteered the information. But this was the next best thing.  
  
Nick was quiet for a few moments. Vincent waited patiently, giving him time to consider.  
  
“Okay,” Nick said, quietly. “I’ll tell you about Brockton Bay…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Vincent looked askance at Nick, wondering if the other man was pulling his leg.  
  
“You asked,” Nick said, like he was enjoying a joke he had yet to let Vincent in on. “Shouldn’t have done that if you didn’t really want to know.”  
  
“I did,” he assured Nick. “I do. And I appreciate you indulging my curiosity. That just… wasn’t quite what I was expecting.” That was an understatement and a half. Nick’s account had made the place sound like a war zone. “It’s certainly sounds very different to New York,” he said, in his opinion rather diplomatically.  
  
“No shit,” Nick murmured. He tilted his head, studying Vincent curiously. “That where you’re from?”  
  
“It’s where my parents are living at the moment,” he said. He started to smoothly effect a change of subject, but broke off at the sound of Kieran’s voice. It seemed that he now had an excuse to simply disengage from the conversation altogether. “Please excuse me,” he said to Nick, nodding over towards Kieran and Astrid. “I should go and see if Astrid needs anything.”  
  
“Wouldn’t want to leave your principal unguarded,” Nick murmured, but the gentle mockery sounded friendly.  
  
“Quite,” Vincent said, grinning at Nick as he got to his feet. “Thanks for the information.”  
  
“Anytime,” Nick drawled. “Hope it helps.”  
  
So did Vincent. He wasn’t quite sure how to use it right now but, like his mother always said: ‘It isn’t always obvious right away what information will be useful, so make the most of opportunities to acquire it. You can figure out what to do with it once it’s safely in hand.’  
  
He made his way across the room, waiting for her to finish her conversation with Kieran — although Kieran seemed to be doing most of the talking — before he approached. Kieran nodded and smiled at Vincent on his way to the fridge. Vincent smiled back at him, and the turned his attention to Astrid, who was watching him with a neutral expression.  
  
“There you are,” he said, smiling at her. She smiled back at him — and he counted that as a victory, given her general reserve — but narrowed her eyes a little.  
  
“Are you planning on asking me if I’m okay again?” Her tone was amused, mostly, but he knew that could change depending on what he said. He wasn’t sure why she seemed to take such issue with someone expressing concern for her wellbeing — especially when she’d suffered an injury — but never let it be said that he couldn’t learn to adapt his approach.  
  
(He supposed he should be relieved that Astrid’s manner of expressing annoyance appeared to involve going cold and stiff, rather than lashing out in a fit of temper. So far, he’d managed to avoid any of that kind of unpleasantness during his chaperone duties — not everything he’d said to Nick on that subject has been untrue — but that wasn’t a record he was overly keen to break.)  
  
(Vincent wasn’t generally a believer in suffering for his art.)  
  
“I was actually going to ask if you’d like any refreshments,” he said dryly. “It has been a little while since lunch, after all.”  
  
She studied him for a moment, and then the sharpness melted from her gaze, leaving only the smile.  
  
“I was going to get a coffee, actually. And maybe an apple, if there are any.”  
  
“Please, let me,” he said, heading over to the small coffee machine the evaluation team had brought with them. (According to Curtis, there had actually been a machine here already, but it was far inferior. Vincent took his word for it.) “I’ve had a lot of practice at making coffee, and I fancy I’m not unskilled at it.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, sounding a little uncertain. “I can get it for myself.”  
  
“It’s really no trouble,” he said. “Besides, I’m supposed to get you anything you need.” He glanced back over his shoulder at her, giving her a wry grin. “Please let me do my job, Astrid.”  
  
It was strange, the way she seemed so reluctant to actually let him do things for her. She hadn’t seemed to have any problems taking charge over lunch earlier, but she really didn’t seem comfortable having him fetch and carry. He was almost surprised she’d actually asked him to watch over her bag. (He was hoping she hadn’t realised he’d left it up here unsupervised in his haste to get downstairs and see if she’d been hurt by that fireball.)  
  
Clearly, he would simply have to help her learn to be comfortable with people waiting on her. Accepting such things with grace was, in his experience, a valuable skill to have.  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t want to stand in the way of your duty,” she said, seeming less discomfited and more amused. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”  
  
“I live to serve,” he murmured, starting on the coffee preparation.  
  
She laughed softly, and then broke off, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t laughing at you. You just reminded me of one of my team mates.”  
  
“Oh?” he asked, curious.  
  
“Gallant said the same thing,” she said, shrugging. “But he was being sarcastic.” She smiled. “It was funny in context, but I guess you had to be there.”  
  
“I’ll take your word for it,” he said, pleased that she seemed rather less on edge than she had been downstairs. Whatever Kieran had said to her had obviously helped. It was… interesting, watching the way she interacted with him. The man seemed fairly easygoing to Vincent, and his team clearly held him in some esteem, yet Astrid seemed wary of him. Perhaps she’d managed to earn Dr Mackinley’s ire during her time in Medical. Tom’s stories certainly painted the woman as being quite… formidable.  
  
Ah well. Kieran was obviously making an effort to put her at her ease. Between the two of them, maybe it would even work.  
  
“I’m going to grab an apple,” Astrid told him. “Would you like anything?”  
  
“I think that should be my line,” he said, grinning.  
  
She actually rolled her eyes at him, but she seemed more amused than irritated. “You’re making the coffee,” she pointed out. “There’s no reason for me to stand around doing nothing.”  
  
“You could always make some notes in your lab book,” he said.  
  
“Alright,” she said after a moment. “Thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome,” he said cheerfully.  
  
Yes, she was definitely warming up to him.  
  
_Now, how to encourage her to interact with the others…_

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

As it turned out, his task was made somewhat easier by the fact that various members of the evaluation team seemed to be interested in interacting with Astrid.  
  
“Hi,” Melanie said, smiling at both of them. “Am I interrupting?”  
  
Vincent looked at Astrid, signalling that she should take the lead here. She gave him a brief, uncertain glance, and then turned to Melanie with a smile that seemed only slightly awkward.  
  
“Not at all,” she said politely, closing her lab book. “I was just finished.”  
  
Melanie seated herself next to Astrid, smoothing her skirt down over her long legs as she crossed them at the ankles. “First of all, I just wanted to say congratulations on becoming an honorary chemist.”  
  
Astrid’s smile turned a little more natural, if slightly rueful. “Thanks, I think.” She gave Melanie a speculative look. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you ever blown yourself up?”  
  
Melanie laughed. “Not quite, fortunately, but I have suffered my fair share of lab accidents.” She leaned in a little, her tone confiding. “I did set my hair on fire once, when I was an undergraduate. Long hair. Carelessly positioned bunsen burner.”  
  
“I hope you weren’t hurt,” Astrid said.  
  
“Only my pride,” Melanie said, smiling ruefully. “It was really only the ends that actually caught fire, but I had to have quite a bit of it cut off to make it look halfway presentable. I was devastated.”  
  
“I can imagine,” Vincent murmured sympathetically, when Astrid seemed lost for words. “But I’m glad you weren’t hurt.”  
  
“So am I,” Melanie said cheerfully.  
  
“Your hair looks lovely now,” Astrid blurted out suddenly. “I really like the purple.” To Vincent’s amusement, she actually blushed.  
  
“Thank you, Astrid,” Melanie said, smiling at her. The poor girl blushed harder. She did seem to be quite shy. Or… perhaps Dr Ross should have arranged for a Girl Friday instead. It was hard to tell. “I like your hair, too. That style really suits you.”  
  
“I had it cut recently,” Astrid muttered, and to Vincent’s eye she suddenly seemed uncomfortable in a different way. Maybe… nervous? And then almost… sad. She shrugged, her lips curving in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ve never had it this short before.”  
  
“Feeling regretful?” Melanie asked, her tone sympathetic.  
  
“No, definitely not,” Astrid said emphatically. “I’ve wanted to cut it short for a long time. There’s much less chance of it being grabbed in a fight this way.”  
  
Vincent stared at Astrid for a moment before he collected himself enough to try to muster a response. Melanie, he noted, was looking at Astrid with wide eyes.  
  
“Be careful about pursuing that line of conversation,” Dr Ross murmured. “And be prepared to back off if she gets too stressed.”  
  
He was almost surprised she wasn’t just asking him to back off right now. Either Astrid wasn’t massively stressed, or Dr Ross was sufficiently interested in this topic of conversation to be willing to risk raising Astrid’s stress levels further.  
  
“That happened to you before?” came Nick’s voice, before he’d decided how best to approach this. Vincent hadn’t even noticed Nick approach. Nor Curtis who, it transpired, was standing next to him.  
  
Astrid shrugged, meeting Nick’s gaze. “A few times,” she said dryly. “It was really fucking annoying.”  
  
“I imagine it would be,” Nick said. He ran a hand over his own, extremely short hair. “Never really been something I’ve had to worry about.”  
  
“Lucky you,” she said.  
  
Vincent found himself wondering just how many fights she’d been in, and if she’d actually fought guys, or just other girls. Maybe she didn’t mean proper fights; maybe she just meant a bit of shoving and hair-pulling.  
  
Maybe.  
  
But he didn’t need a heads up from Dr Ross to know that asking her if she’d been in a lot of fights was not the best of ideas.  
  
“So your new haircut is practical as well as stylish,” he said lightly. It actually was a pretty good haircut, and it did actually suit her, for all the good it did. He smiled at Astrid, amused when her cheeks flushed again.  
  
“I’m honestly more interested in the practical aspect,” she said, looking a little uncomfortable. Vincent thought it was a little sad that she obviously didn’t know how to take a compliment. But then, she probably wasn’t really used to receiving compliments on her looks. “Anyway,” she said firmly, looking enquiringly at Nick and Curtis. “I doubt you came over here to discuss haircuts. So… did you want something?”  
  
Curtis grinned. “If you don’t mind us interrupting your conversation, and if it’s not too much of an imposition, Nick and I were wondering if we could ask you a question.”  
  
“You can ask,” Astrid said cautiously. “But I may not answer.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Nick said.  
  
“Great!” Curtis said, pulling a chair over so he could sit facing Astrid. “Will you tell us about the exploding cellphone?”  
  
Vincent had actually forgotten about that. But, now that he thought about it, he was a little curious himself. Not to mention relieved that she hadn’t made his cellphone explode when she’d fixed it earlier.  
  
Melanie smiled. “I have to admit, I was tempted to ask about that myself,” she said. She gave Curtis and Nick a sidelong glance. “I might even forgive you interrupting our terribly important conversation about haircuts.”  
  
“You’re so magnanimous,” Curtis sighed.  
  
“I know,” Melanie said sweetly.  
  
Astrid’s expression remained closed off during that exchange, but then she sighed, looking resigned. “What do you want to know?”  
  
“Well, what happened?” Curtis asked.  
  
“It exploded,” Astrid said dryly. “I thought I’d already made that clear.”  
  
Vincent just about managed not to raise his eyebrows. Of all the things he might have expected from Astrid, sarcasm really wasn’t one of them. Apparently she really was feeling more comfortable at the moment. He wondered if it would last this time, or if she’d end up withdrawing once more into silence and stillness.  
  
He actually hoped she didn’t.  
  
Curtis rolled his eyes and started to speak, but Melanie nudged him gently with her elbow and he subsided.  
  
“What were you doing at the time?” she asked Astrid, her eyes alight with curiosity.  
  
“I was trying to map out the structure,” Astrid said. “I remember I was concentrating on the battery at the time, trying to make sense of the information. I… guess I must have accidentally moved something around, or cross-linked it, or something.”  
  
“You don’t know?” Nick asked.  
  
Astrid gave him a flat look, and Vincent was oddly disappointed that ‘relatively relaxed Astrid’ had disappeared again so quickly.  
  
“I’d barely slept in a couple of days and I had a migraine,” she said tightly. “I’m not sure I could even swear to what day it was at that point.”  
  
“Why didn’t you take a break?” Vincent asked, faintly horrified. “Have some painkillers; maybe even go to sleep. Why would you put yourself through that? Not to mention taking that risk?”  
  
“Be very careful about pursuing this line of conversation,” Dr Ross said swiftly. She started to say something else, but broke off when Astrid spoke.  
  
“I needed to get a handle on my power, and it was easiest just to push through,” she said, matter-of-factly, but there was a tension to her that belied her casual tone. She seemed to brighten a little, though, as she added: “But I did work out why it probably happened.”  
  
“Oh?” Nick asked.  
  
“I must have moved some metal around inside it and caused a short-circuit,” she said ruefully. “That led to a thermal runaway, and…” She shrugged. “Boom.” One side of her mouth quirked in a wry smile. “At least I managed not to burn myself that time.”  
  
“You just got a face full of shrapnel, huh?” Nick said.  
  
“Hands and arms, not face, but yeah,” she replied. “It was just surface damage, though. Nothing serious.”  
  
She seemed very blasé about that, Vincent couldn’t help but notice.  
  
“Do you think you could replicate it?” Curtis asked. “Hypothetically, I mean.” He pulled a face. “I think we’d get in trouble if we asked you to deliberately blow yourself up.”  
  
“I know I could,” Astrid said, seeming amused.  
  
“You seem quite definite about that,” Melanie observed.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “Once I worked out how I must have done it, figuring out how to replicate it wasn’t that hard. But I haven’t actually done so, and I wasn’t really planning on it.” She looked thoughtful. “Although, it might be useful to confirm the mechanism. Maybe if I used something as a blast shield? I’d only need minimal contact with the phone, and there’d probably be a slight delay between initiation and, ah…” She grinned suddenly. “Rapid disassembly. That should be enough time for me to pull my finger back and seal the hole in the blast shield.”  
  
“You actually seem enthusiastic about this,” Vincent observed cautiously.  
  
“I want to test my hypothesis,” she said. “And the only way to do that is by experimentation.”  
  
“One of us, one of us,” Curtis chanted softly, grinning broadly.  
  
Melanie was smiling too, and Nick was definitely looking amused. This honestly seemed a little irresponsible to Vincent. Astrid seemed to be cavalier enough about the prospect of injury, without being encouraged further by people who should know better.  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Astrid muttered, flushing a little. “I still have a lot to learn.”  
  
“Oh, you’re still a kid,” Curtis said. “You’ve got plenty of time to-“  
  
“I’m not a fucking child!” Astrid snapped, talking right over him, glaring daggers in his direction. Vincent had seen her look annoyed — when the jumped up valet in the motor pool had been rude; when Vincent had expressed more concern for her than she thought necessary — but this? This looked like real anger.  
  
Apparently her temper could flare hot as well as cold.  
  
“Sorry,” Curtis said, looking taken aback. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a figure of speech.”  
  
Vincent was peripherally aware that the other conversations in the room were trailing off; that attention was being directed this way. Which was just bound to make this situation less awkward. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he heard Dr Ross’ voice instructing everyone else not to interfere; to keep this conversation between Astrid and Curtis. To Vincent, however, she said:  
  
“Just observe for now, but try to calm things down if necessary.”  
  
He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. Not that he doubted his abilities in that regard — of course he didn’t — but it would be better if Astrid and Curtis managed to resolved this by themselves.  
  
Astrid glared at Curtis for a few moments more, but then the anger abruptly cleared, leaving her looking absolutely mortified.  
  
“Shit,” she muttered, looking down. She seemed to study her hands for a moment — she’d clenched them into fists, Vincent noticed, but now she unfolded them, spreading her fingers — and took a deep breath, meeting Curtis’ gaze. Her face was flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was uncalled for.”  
  
Vincent wanted to tell her that it was alright — even though he didn’t understand why she’d reacted so strongly to such a harmless (and, technically, accurate) turn of phrase — but he held his tongue. Much though he wanted to ease her obvious distress, his earlier reasoning still applied. It was better to let Curtis handle it.  
  
He just hoped Curtis was up to the task.  
  
“That’s okay,” Curtis said, sounding a little cautious. He studied Astrid for a moment. “Mind if I ask why it bothered you so much?” He hesitated briefly, and then continued, all in a rush. “I mean, feel free to tell me it’s none of my business, or whatever. I’m just curious, that’s all.”  
  
Vincent honestly wasn’t sure whether Astrid would answer. She certainly didn’t look like she wanted to. But, after a breath or two, she replied.  
  
“I’m goddamn tired of being coddled.” She spoke softly, but with vehemence. “I’m not fucking fragile, and it pisses me off something fierce when people treat me like I am. When they treat me like a fucking child.” Her lips twisted into a somewhat bitter-looking smile. “I guess you just reminded me of that particular pet peeve, and I… overreacted a little.” She shrugged. “Sorry I bit your head off.”  
  
Curtis looked like he had about a million and one questions, but he swallowed them with a smile and said, instead: “Well, no harm done. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”  
  
_Probably the wisest course of action,_ Vincent thought, approvingly.  
  
The murmur of conversation started up again between the people not part of this little group, possibly because it no longer seemed like they were at risk of witnessing a cape meltdown from Ground Zero. Not that Astrid had really seemed like she was about to meltdown, but she did seem to have a temper.  
  
That was definitely useful to know.  
  
“Yes, please,” Astrid said fervently, her smile becoming somewhat more worth of the name. “Because I am pretty fucking mortified right now.”  
  
“You don’t have to be,” Melanie said gently. Nick said nothing, merely studying Astrid with a slightly speculative air.  
  
Astrid looked unconvinced by Melanie’s words. Vincent took that as his cue to speak up.  
  
“Perhaps a change of subject is in order,” he suggested, smiling at Astrid.  
  
She nodded and smiled back. “Definitely.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

“Would you like to take a brief break, Astrid?” Kimberly asked.  
  
“No thank you, Ma’am, I’m fine,” Astrid said politely.  
  
Unlike some of the other questions Kimberly had asked over the course of this interview, she apparently didn’t need to take a moment to think before answering.  
  
“Well, if you ever do need a break at any point, please let me know, alright?” she said, smiling.  
  
“I will, Ma’am,” Astrid said. “But I’m sure it won’t be necessary.”  
  
Kimberly studied her for a moment, curious at the second part of her response. The people she interviewed didn’t generally feel the need to assure her that they wouldn’t need to take a break.  
  
“Oh?” she said, her tone one of mild interest as she made a couple of notes.  
  
“I’ve already had one break, Ma’am,” Astrid said, sounding a little uncomfortable. “And I was given to understand that this interview would only last a couple of hours at most.”  
  
Kimberly strongly suspected that this particular interview would take the whole of the allotted time slot. She kept that thought to herself, however. All she said aloud was:  
  
“Nevertheless, you’re entitled to ask for a break any time you feel you need one. That also goes for the rest of the day. It won’t always be possible to stop right away, of course, but I’m sure everyone will do their best to accommodate any reasonable requests.”  
  
Even if it had been necessary to have a word with Dr Mackinley about her tendency to dismiss even reasonable requests out of hand. And, after that, another word about expressing disapproval of such ‘time-wasting’ even when she did grudgingly agree to allow it.  
  
(For a medical doctor, the woman could be remarkably unsympathetic to human frailty. She was an excellent scientist, no doubt, but… Still, her attitude could come in useful.)  
  
(Idly, Kimberly wondered if Dr Mackinley realised that her role in the evaluations was often about more than her medical skills.)  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am, but I’m sure it won’t be necessary,” Astrid said, seeming strangely reluctant. “In any event, I wouldn’t want to disrupt the testing schedule.”  
  
Kimberly made some notes while she considered the best way to respond.  
  
“As I said previously, the schedule is, of necessity, a flexible one,” she said, keeping her tone professional but pleasant. “So it wouldn’t be a disruption. In any case, the evaluation may take quite a while, and you’ve already had a rather early start.” She gave Astrid a small smile. “We wouldn’t want to work you too hard, after all.”  
  
“I’ve never had a problem with working hard, Ma’am,” Astrid said.  
  
Somehow, that didn’t surprise Kimberly one bit.  
  
She made some more notes.  
  
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s move on.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Curtis_ **

 

“So, Eliot,” Curtis said, leaning on the desk and giving his colleague a grin. “You’re up next. Are you nervous?”  
  
Eliot didn’t exactly give much away, but Curtis himself had been a little bit worried about taking part in this evaluation — he didn’t want to mess up and make the team look bad, after all — and Eliot didn’t exactly have a whole lot of experience working with capes. Plus, there was Astrid’s little outburst earlier. Not that a single snappish response to being accidentally prodded in a sore spot was all that extreme, but that kind of thing definitely put you on your toes when it came from a cape.  
  
Eliot shrugged, the motion neat and economical, the same way he did everything. “No, it all seems fairly straightforward. And, as far as I can tell, the girl seems to be quite cooperative.”  
  
“Yeah, Astrid’s certainly willing and able to follow directions,” Curtis agreed. “I hear that’s more than some of them do. Although, to be honest, the capes I’ve worked with have all been pretty cooperative. But then, I guess they’ve mostly been here more as fellow researchers than as research subjects. And this is the first evaluation I’ve ever helped with.”  
  
There were stories, though; tales of capes who weren’t so cooperative. Or who were pushed a little too far and ended up lashing out. There were other stories too, although those were really more on the order of rumours. Curtis didn’t really put any credence in the ones that spoke of capes being coerced into ‘helping’ with research projects. Seriously: they had powers. How could they be coerced into doing anything they didn’t want to do? Simply making the attempt seemed like it could end up being very bad for a person’s health.  
  
There were some rumours he did believe, though. Villains agreeing to be evaluated, or whatever, in exchange for lighter sentences just seemed like common sense. In the unlikely event that he ever got powers and turned to a life of crime, Curtis could certainly see himself taking that plea deal.  
  
“I haven’t worked directly with any parahumans as yet,” Eliot said politely.  
  
“Really?” Curtis said, surprised. “I thought you were working with that cape from Philadelphia… What was his name?” He thought for a moment. “Nickel and Dime?”  
  
“The project had to be pushed back,” Eliot said. “I understand that the parahuman in question had other commitments.”  
  
“You must be disappointed,” Curtis said sympathetically. Such disruptions were not uncommon when you worked with capes. Between injuries, patrol coverage issues, PR engagements and sundry other concerns, schedules had to be flexible. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but it couldn’t be helped.  
  
“I’ve been using the time to carry out some more extensive preparatory work.”  
  
It was hard to tell whether Eliot really didn’t mind, or if he was just masking his disappointment. Curtis decided to take his statement at face value.  
  
“So, your first interaction with a cape, and you’re not nervous in the slightest?” he said teasingly.  
  
“I don’t see any particular reason for nervousness. My part in the proceedings is fairly minimal, all things considered.” Eliot’s lips curved in the slightest of smiles. “Rest assured that I’ve learned from your mistake, Curtis. I don’t plan on calling her ‘kid.’”  
  
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” Curtis said, almost surprised — and definitely relieved — that Eliot was actually capable of humour. He’d been starting to wonder.  
  
“And,” Eliot continued. “Assuming that Astrid doesn’t manage to inadvertently detonate anything else, I really don’t foresee any particular problems.”  
  
“Oh man, why did you have to say that?” Curtis complained good-naturedly, shaking his head. “Now you’ve gone and jinxed it. Don’t you know anything?”  
  
Eliot gave a slight sigh. Curtis fancied it sounded a little long-suffering, but he could just have been projecting. “I don’t particularly believe in jinxes.”  
  
“You’ll learn,” Curtis said. Eliot merely smiled politely and said nothing. This was starting to feel a little like trying to get blood out of a stone. Which didn’t mean that he would stop trying, just… maybe not right now. “Well, I think I hear the refreshments calling my name. Do you want anything?”  
  
“I’m fine, thank you.” Eliot checked his watch. “I think I’m going to go and check the set-up for my part of the tests. I’ll see you later.”  
  
“See you,” Curtis said, trying to hide his amusement.  
  
_Not nervous, my ass._

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Eliot_ **

 

Eliot wasn’t nervous. Not in the slightest. It wouldn’t make sense to be nervous. Just as he’d said to Curtis, his part in the upcoming tests was relatively simple. Honestly, he wasn’t entirely certain why his presence was even needed in the first place. Certainly, he was currently the team’s only dedicated metallurgist, but as far as he could tell, his specialist expertise wasn’t particularly needed in this case. Kieran and Curtis between them undoubtedly had sufficient knowledge and experience to be able to continue as they had been for the previous parts of the evaluation.  
  
It wasn’t as if the powers of the parahuman being tested were even particularly interesting. Useful in some respects, perhaps, but no more so than a good piece of equipment or set of tools. As he understood it, her abilities were limited by the properties of the materials being manipulated. Eliot’s interest lay in abilities that transcended those properties; that caused metals to behave in ways not generally permitted by the usual laws of physics.  
  
He knew that the point of today’s exercise was to evaluate the girl’s power, not to further his understanding of the way metals behaved under exotic conditions, but still. He had been hoping for something a little more… exciting.  
  
For that matter, Eliot wasn’t entirely certain why two people were needed to conduct the tests at all. He could see how it would be useful to have another pair of hands on occasion, but useful wasn’t by any means the same as necessary. Still, apparently that particular aspect of the testing procedure — like so many others, apparently — was mandated by their overseers in the Psychology department.  
  
_’Always there are two,’_ he mused, smiling faintly. _’A master, and an apprentice.’_  
  
But, if he was going to be playing a part in this evaluation — however small or unnecessary — then he wanted to make absolutely certain that he did the best possible job that he could do. Which meant checking that he had everything he needed, and it was set up in precisely the right way.  
  
He liked to be prepared, he liked to be thorough, and he liked everything to be just so. That was all it was.  
  
It had absolutely nothing to do with being nervous.  
  
In any case, it was a good excuse to get away from Curtis. Not that he disliked the man. Quite the opposite, in fact — Curtis actually seemed quite personable. And while Eliot hadn’t needed the reassurance he was clearly preparing to offer, he did appreciate the thought behind it. All in all, the Engineering, Technology and Applied Sciences team seemed seemed to be a fairly friendly and welcoming group. Many if not all of them also seemed to be friends as well as work colleagues. And that…  
  
That was the problem.  
  
It wasn’t that Eliot had anything against making friends. He had a number of people he would consider to be such, one or two of them even what he would call close friends. He just… preferred to keep his work and his social life separate.  
  
It was… easier that way. Neater. No risk of messiness spilling over from one sphere to the other.  
  
(He’d been burned like that once before. Never again.)  
  
(Let work be work and friends be friends, and never the twain shall meet.)  
  
(And what was true for his social life was doubly so for his love life.)  
  
But he found it difficult to strike the right balance. If one grew too close, one risked becoming inextricably entangled. If one kept too great a distance, however, one risked being thought stand-offish or rude. That would never do. Many a career had been sunk without a trace by dint of making too many enemies.  
  
(Some enemies were fine, as long as one had sufficient allies to counter their influence. That, too, was a lesson he had learned.)  
  
It was a work in progress. But, by and large, his new colleagues were proving not to be too pushy on the social front. He appreciated that.  
  
All in all, he thought he would enjoy working here. The field of parahuman-related research was not one he had ever really thought about before circumstances encouraged him to… consider his options more thoroughly. However, he found himself intrigued by the possibilities. Excited, even.  
  
He couldn’t wait to get properly started.  
  
In the meanwhile, tedious though it might be, he would have to ensure that he played his part in today’s evaluation to perfection.  
  
Perhaps he would check the set-up one last time, just to be certain.  
  
He just hoped no one mistook thoroughness for nervousness.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“This one counts as a single object,” Astrid confirmed. “But the parts it’s made from don’t register as separate objects; only as part of the whole.”  
  
Her hand rested on top of a pile of scrap metal that had been roughly spot-welded together. There were two more scrap metal piles within reach of her: one roughly tied together with cord and one merely an unbound heap of pieces. Neither of these counted as objects to her power, although the individual pieces within them did.  
  
“Interesting,” Kieran mused.  
  
_But not unexpected,_ Eliot added silently. Still, it was always worth testing one’s assumptions.  
  
Even if it wasn’t all that interesting to observe.  
  
“Do you want me to manipulate the metal?” Astrid asked. Eliot couldn’t be certain, but he thought she sounded almost eager.  
  
“Yes, but not that piece,” Kieran said. “I’d like you to join together all the pieces in the first pile, and then tell me if that counts as an object.”  
  
“Do you want them joined in any particular way?” Astrid asked, turning towards the pile in question.  
  
“It doesn’t matter, as long as they’re physically stuck together,” Kieran said. He smiled suddenly. “Surprise me.”  
  
Astrid thought for a moment, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly in a small smile. “Alright,” she said, and reached for the metal. Eliot had been expecting her to pick up two pieces and simply bond them together, like a human welding torch, or soldering iron. Instead, she touched one of the larger pieces and made it flow over and through the pile, anchoring it to her skin by means of a slim cable that looped around her wrist. Then the whole pile flowed together into a single, blob-like mass. Instead of stopping there, as Eliot expected — since she’d fairly clearly succeeded in joining them together as a single object — she reshaped the metal, elongating the blob into a vertical cylinder that split and twisted, extruding other shapes, until…  
  
“A tree?” Kieran asked, looking startled but amused.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “You said to surprise you,” she said. “And I’ve found sculpture to be an excellent way of improving my fine control of metal.”  
  
Eliot wasn’t entirely certain he’d really call it sculpture. Although, on reflection, he supposed that was as good a word as any for crafting a substance into a specific, ornamental shape. It was a somewhat frivolous action, though, and he was a little surprised that Astrid would indulge in this kind of showing off. Still, she was only young.  
  
Not that he planned on expressing any such sentiment aloud.  
  
“I think we can safely say that counts as an object to your power,” Kieran said dryly.  
  
“Yes,” Astrid agreed.  
  
“Okay,” Kieran said. “Now, let’s try adding more metal…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Alright, that’s excellent,” Kieran said cheerfully, as Astrid finished the last of the ever larger and more complex series of structures he and Eliot had asked her to build.  
  
Well, Eliot reflected, Kieran had been the one doing most of the talking, but that was honestly fine with him. He hadn’t exactly been comfortable with teenagers even when he was one. It had been a pleasant surprise to find that she was actually interested in science — she’d seemed to him more likely to be interested in sports than intellectual pursuits — but she was still a high school student. It wasn’t as if he could have an in-depth conversation with her about his area of interest without dumbing it down considerably.  
  
Not that he was especially inclined towards long conversations with strangers, even without taking her age into account.  
  
Anyway, it would hardly be appropriate to stand around chatting when they were supposed to be performing an evaluation. The Psychology team had been quite clear about their desire to complete the process today.  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said quietly, looking pleased.  
  
It seemed a little strange, praising a parahuman for their power, but Eliot supposed there were aspects of it that, like any other skill, could be improved with effort. Whatever else might be said about Astrid, he couldn’t fault her work ethic. Encouraging her in that certainly wasn’t a bad thing.  
  
He finished writing up his observations from the last set of tests, double-checking to make sure he hadn’t missed anything that could be relevant. Not that he really considered this an experiment, in the true sense of the word. Still, that was no reason to get into bad habits.  
  
Besides, there was always a chance she might actually be able to do something interesting.  
  
It had been odd, though, seeing cold metal flow like liquid; watching structures being formed without machines and tools. He wondered how she made it do that. Some kind of microkinesis, perhaps? Of course, that was only a descriptor, not an explanation, but that was powers for you.  
  
In any event, whatever impetus her power afforded the materials she touched, it didn’t seem to be sufficient to lift even small masses all the way off the ground. It was unclear whether there was a limit to the mass of metal she could manipulate at any one time. Eliot suspected that there was such a limit, but if so it was clearly greater than the size of the largest metal mass they’d used for this set of tests.  
  
“For this next part,” Kieran said. “We’re going to see how you get on with shaping metal in a more dynamic manner. Specifically, I’d like you to surround yourself in it and make it move with you.”  
  
“Armour, you mean?” she asked, and if Eliot had thought she’d seemed eager merely to shape the metal, this prospect seemed to positively excite her.  
  
“Hopefully,” Kieran said, giving her an almost fond smile.  
  
Eliot suspected he found her enthusiasm endearing. For himself, he was just glad she was so willing to work with them. If she continued to be so cooperative, maybe they even had a chance of finishing the evaluation today after all.  
  
“I really hope this works,” she murmured, her voice low but intense, her demeanour utterly, determinedly serious.  
  
“Well, all you can do is try,” Kieran said, looking at her with concern. “And don’t be discouraged if you don’t get the hang of it right away. Or even at all. Just do your best, okay?”  
  
“I intend to,” she said, the grim tone making her sound old beyond her years. She took a breath. “How do you want me to start?”


	5. Chapter 5

**_Kimberly_ **

 

“May I ask a question, Ma’am?” Astrid’s voice was cautious, her gaze watchful.  
  
“Of course, Astrid,” Kimberly said, glancing up from her notes with a pleasant smile. She finished the sentence she was writing, and leaned forward a little, making it clear that Astrid had her full attention. “You can always ask.”  
  
“I was just wondering, Ma’am. You said that the purpose of this evaluation was to determine the optimal way to test my power. But you’ve asked me very few questions about my power itself, and I’m having difficulty seeing how the other questions will help in that regard.” She paused for a moment, watching Kimberly carefully, but it seemed like she wasn’t finished speaking. “Would be possible for you to clarify that?”  
  
“That’s an interesting question,” Kimberly said thoughtfully, mainly to give herself a few moments to consider her response. She jotted down another note, for more or less the same reason. Astrid was hardly the first parahuman to ask her that question, of course, and she doubted she’d be the last. This was definitely one of the more politely phrased versions, though.  
  
She suddenly found herself recalling another teenager she’d evaluated. He’d leaned back in his chair, smirking, and with an air of challenge, said: ‘Why don’t you cut the crap, Doc? This doesn’t have a damn thing to do with testing my powers. You just want to know if I’m about to crack up, flip out, or otherwise go off the reservation.’ She didn’t remember much about the young man in question but, for some reason, his words had stuck with her.  
  
Still not the most belligerently phrased version of that question, despite the anger lurking beneath it. Even so, she’d considered her response carefully before speaking, just as she was doing now.  
  
Everyone reacted differently, after all, and an approach that worked with one person wouldn’t necessarily work with another.  
  
“I hope it isn’t inappropriate, Ma’am,” Astrid said.  
  
“No, not at all,” Kimberly replied, smiling. “I was just considering how best to answer it.” She sat up a little straighter in her chair and set her pen down, her demeanour professional and her tone brisk as she continued. “I’m not sure how much you know about parahuman abilities generally…” She purposefully left a pause, curious to see whether Astrid might volunteer information to fill it. Astrid merely watched her attentively and said nothing. “But the way in which they manifest can be influenced by the parahuman’s state of mind. Needless to say there has been a certain amount of research on this subject, some of which has proven directly relevant to testing and training methodologies.” She did smile, now; politely, professionally. “Simply put, the more we know about you, the better we can predict what methods might work best to help you make the most effective use of your powers.”  
  
All of that was perfectly true, of course. It just wasn’t the whole truth. Kimberly watched Astrid, waiting for her response.  
  
Astrid frowned, but she didn’t look angry, just thoughtful. “So,” she said, after a few moments. “Based on the results of the research, if you have enough information about a specific parahuman, you can predict the way their power might behave under particular circumstances? Is that correct, Ma’am?”  
  
“It’s not quite as straightforward as that,” Kimberly said. “But yes, essentially.”  
  
“I see, Ma’am,” she said. “Thank you for answering my question.”  
  
“You’re very welcome,” Kimberly said, wondering if that would be the end of it. From the speculative look Astrid was giving her, she suspected that it wasn’t.  
  
“Her pulse-rate just picked up a little,” Andrew said. “Nothing major, but she’s definitely a little agitated.”  
  
Kimberly picked up her pen again, letting the silence stretch a little.  
  
“Do you have any further questions?” she asked pleasantly.  
  
“Not really, Ma’am,” Astrid said. “I was just… thinking.”  
  
“Oh?” Kimberly let her curiosity show.  
  
“The information you gather during these interviews must also be helpful in determining whether a parahuman is likely to be an asset or a liability out in the field, Ma’am.” Astrid spoke quietly, and she watched Kimberly like a hawk.  
  
“Pulse just spiked again,” Andrew said, quite unnecessarily.  
  
“How do you feel about that?” Kimberly asked.  
  
“I think it’s sensible, Ma’am,” she said, matter-of-factly. A flicker of something almost like a smile showed briefly on her face, but there was nothing particularly happy about the expression. Almost as if she was talking to herself, she murmured: “You don’t use a blade without first testing its balance.”  
  
It sounded like she was quoting something.  
  
Kimberly jotted it down.  
  
There was so much to unpack in that sentence, but Kimberly chose to go with a simple, noncommittal: “Can you expand on that?”  
  
Astrid frowned. “What do you want to know, Ma’am?” she asked politely.  
  
“What did you mean?”  
  
She seemed tense, in that still way of hers. “I just meant that…” She paused, took a slow breath and started again. “It makes sense the PRT would want to make sure that their capes aren’t going to break under pressure before sending them out in the field.”  
  
It wasn’t quite the way Kimberly would have phrased it, but she supposed it was essentially accurate.  
  
In any event, she didn’t feel that it would be productive to follow this particular conversational digression any further.  
  
She made some notes and moved on.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Eliot_ **

 

“Have you tried this before?” Kieran asked, as Astrid proceeded to encase herself in steel.  
  
(Only up to her shoulders, though. They didn’t want to take the risk that she might break her neck or suffocate if something went awry.)  
  
“Once,” Astrid said, her voice sounding a little distant.  
  
That seemed to be all she had to say on the matter.  
  
Kieran raised his eyebrows, seeming somewhat amused. (He did seem to be a generally cheerful sort of person. Sometimes, when he was in a particularly ebullient mood, he might even be moved to sing. Eliot had to suppress a grimace at the thought. His boss was a man of many talents. Singing, alas, was really not one of them.)  
  
“Only once?” he said, teasingly. “I’m surprised you didn’t repeat the experiment.”  
  
Astrid gave him a considering look, and then her expression softened a little, although she didn’t smile. “Not enough metal,” she said, succinctly. Perhaps a little too succinctly, as it did raise a question.  
  
“What happened to the metal you used for that attempt?” Eliot asked, wondering if she’d inadvertently destroyed it. She’d already demonstrated — explosively — that her power didn’t necessarily achieve precisely the effect she intended every single time.  
  
“I returned it,” she said. That still wasn’t quite an answer, but she apparently realised that. “I’m not supposed to use my power on the Wards HQ,” she added.  
  
Eliot hoped Kieran wasn’t going to condone what sounded like an act of vandalism. But Astrid had said she’d returned the metal to its rightful place, so perhaps she’d managed to fix whatever damage she’d caused.  
  
Kieran was clearly trying not to laugh, which earned him another suspicious glance from Astrid, if a slightly perplexed one.  
  
Eliot didn’t really understand why he seemed so tickled by something that really wasn’t that funny. Still, he supposed that Kieran had at least made an effort to contain his mirth. If it was up to him, though, he would have had a stern word or two with Astrid about not treating one’s environment so cavalierly. After all, she couldn’t necessarily guarantee being able to fix any damage she caused. But… Kieran was the group head, and he was running this evaluation. It was up to him to deliver any reprimands. Not — judging by his clear amusement — that he seemed at all likely to actually do that.  
  
“Say no more,” Kieran said, his eyes twinkling. He cleared his throat. “Alright,” he continued, in a much brisker tone. “Are you done turning yourself into canned parahuman?”  
  
Not the most professional way of phrasing it, but it got the point across.  
  
“Yes,” Astrid replied, frowning a little. Perhaps she also disapproved of the informal turn of phrase.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said. “I’m going to ask you to try moving in a moment, but don’t try to consciously control the metal when you do so. We’re going to see if your power will respond instinctively to let the metal move with you without you having to concentrate on it. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes,” she said.  
  
“Good. Now try moving.”  
  
Astrid remained where she was. “Just a moment,” she said, her voice tight.  
  
“Take your time,” Kieran said, his tone reassuring.  
  
A few seconds went by. “I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s working,” she said. There was an odd note in her voice. It sounded almost like… betrayal?  
  
“That’s okay,” Kieran said. “It was worth a shot.”  
  
“It worked before,” Astrid said, softly. “The other time I wrapped myself in metal. But I didn’t really do that deliberately. It just happened.”  
  
 _It just… happened?_  
  
“Under what circumstances?” Eliot found himself asking, moved to speak by a mixture of curiosity and concern. If she didn’t have her power properly under control…  
  
Were they actually in danger?  
  
Astrid looked at him for a moment, but then she turned to Kieran to ask: “Do I have to answer that?”  
  
Eliot tried not to feel slighted. Kieran was the group head, after all. He was in charge, and Eliot didn’t have a problem with that. Honestly, the headaches that came with that kind of position seemed to him not to be worth the privileges. It just… stung a little to hear a teenager basically asking his boss if she could ignore him.  
  
He wasn’t sure if it made it better or worse that she did so right in front of him.  
  
“No, of course not,” Kieran said gently, although he seemed troubled. “You’re under no obligation to tell us anything you’re not comfortable sharing.” That seemed like a rash thing to promise, in Eliot’s opinion. He also didn’t see why Kieran felt the need to add: “You’re certainly not going to be in trouble if you don’t answer. Okay?”  
  
Astrid nodded silently, her expression blank. The metal surrounding her rippled for a brief moment, and then went still.  
  
“Will the information be helpful?”  
  
At least she seemed to direct that question at both of them.  
  
“Potentially,” Eliot said, after giving Kieran a chance to speak. He tried not to feel offended that Astrid apparently thought he was in the habit of asking frivolous questions.  
  
Astrid sighed softly.  
  
“I’d been sparring,” she said, her voice inflectionless. “This was just afterwards. I was a little dazed, and I was having some trouble getting to my feet. I must have used my power on the metal of the building without realising it. It wrapped around me and acted as a kind of… support, I suppose. It was extremely useful. I walked a little way, but I don’t remember consciously making the metal move with me. After that, I returned the metal to its proper place.”  
  
“Please don’t pursue this line of questioning any further,” Kimberly’s voice came through his earbud, and presumably Kieran’s as well. It was all Eliot could do not to startle at the voice in his ear. Even with the practice, he really wasn’t used to this. Honestly, he hoped it wouldn’t happen enough that he had to get used to it. While he understood that his duties technically involved assisting with parahuman evaluations when necessary, that wasn’t the reason why he was here.  
  
“Thank you,” Kieran said. “That’s useful to know.” He smiled, but Astrid didn’t return it. In a brisker tone, he continued: “However, I think we’ll try the other way for the moment. This time when you try to move, actively shape the metal to follow your movements. Take it slowly and carefully, and make sure the metal follows you, not the other way around. If anything hurts, or if it feels like this is putting too much strain on your body, then stop. Pay special attention to your joints — I imagine it would be quite easy to turn your ankle or wrench your wrist if it doesn’t flex the right way — and dismiss the metal if necessary. Don’t take any undue risks.”  
  
He sounded quite stern.  
  
“I understand,” Astrid said.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said. “Please start whenever you’re ready.  
  
“Yes, S- Okay.”  
  
A few seconds went by, and then Astrid took a slow, ponderous step. A few seconds later, she took another one.  
  
“How is it?” Kieran asked. “Heavy?”  
  
“It’s fine,” she said, taking another slow step. If that was the best she could manage, then they’d probably have to give this endeavour up as a bad job. Eliot wondered why she was struggling so much. When she’d been forming static shapes, the steel had rippled and flowed, its movement seeming effortless. Now, though, he almost expected it to creak as it moved with her.  
  
 _Wait_.  
  
“Try flowing the metal around you, rather than moving it with your body,” he suggested.  
  
“Of course!” Kieran said, with more excitement that Eliot felt his remark really warranted. “The metal should mostly support its own weight that way, which should make it much easier to move.”  
  
Astrid was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, I should have realised that,” she said quietly. “Thank you, Eliot.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he said.  
  
“I’d like to spend a few moments figuring this out before trying to walk again, if that’s alright,” she said a little hesitantly, turning to Kieran.  
  
“Of course,” he said, raising his eyebrows a little. “It’s your power. Take all the time you need.”  
  
Eliot just hoped she didn’t take too much time.  
  
He was hoping to get some real work done today.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The human-shaped mass of metal plodded its way across the floor of the Garage. Eliot found it a little disconcerting, seeing something that looked like it should be making a terrible racket move in relative quiet, if not quite ease. He thought about what it must have felt like, to be more or less completely encased in metal, and had to suppress a shudder. He supposed it was a good thing that Astrid didn’t seem to suffer from claustrophobia. Her head was uncovered, but even so…  
  
He was very glad it wasn’t him.  
  
Astrid reached the designated finish line — breaking the laser beam to stop the automatic timer — and came to a halt.  
  
Eliot really didn’t think the timer was actually necessary for this exercise, at least not from a practical standpoint. The Psychology team, however, had asked that they introduce an element of time pressure. It was unclear whether or not it had made any appreciable difference to Astrid’s efforts. She already seemed quite motivated to succeed at the task she had been set.  
  
“Great!” Kieran over-enthused.  
  
Eliot wondered idly if he was the kind of person who believed in giving participation trophies in tournaments, rather than reserving the prizes for those who actually earned them. Not that there was anything wrong with that, per se. One simply had to make sure that there was still a clear distinction between winning and merely participating.  
  
He couldn’t help wondering whether being so encouraging might defeat the object of having the timer in the first place, but presumably Kimberly would speak up if there was an issue.  
  
“I’m… not sure I’d call that great,” Astrid said, giving Kieran a peculiar look as she turned — slowly and carefully — and made her way back towards them.  
  
Eliot looked at her, a little surprised at the way her thoughts seemed to mirror his own. It was good that she realised merely walking a short distance without freezing in place or falling over wasn’t precisely an achievement. He hoped Kieran’s excitement didn’t corrupt that.  
  
“You’re definitely getting faster, though,” Kieran said encouragingly. Which was technically correct, Eliot confirmed by glancing at the display, if only by a handful of seconds. “How did it feel that time?”  
  
“It’s still awkward as… I mean, it still feels extremely awkward,” Astrid said. “But I think I’ve got it more or less supporting its own weight now.”  
  
That was probably just as well. Astrid might be strong, but metal armour worthy of the name could be rather heavy, and moving around in it was tiring. Or so Eliot had heard from one of his friends. (Personally, Eliot didn’t really see the point in re-enacting historical battles, but Philip seemed to enjoy it. But then, Philip didn’t see the point of building model battleships. _ _Each to their own,_ Eliot supposed.)  
  
“That’s good,” Kieran said. He gave her a considering look. “Is this harder than shaping static materials?”  
  
Astrid didn’t reply right away, clearly giving her answer some thought. “Not harder, precisely,” she said. “But it definitely takes more concentration.” She sounded disappointed. Or apprehensive. Possibly both. “I’m not sure why. This isn’t really any more complicated than some of the more intricate structures I made before.”  
  
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Kieran said, and it sounded like he was trying to be encouraging. “There are more variables to consider, for a start. Not to mention having to worry about keeping your balance on top of all that. I’d be surprised if it wasn’t more difficult.”  
  
“It should get easier with practice, though.” Astrid sounded determined. Eliot approved. He watched her struggle to turn around.  
  
“I wonder if it would be easier with a different metal; perhaps one with a lower density,” he mused, directing his observation more to Kieran than at Astrid. “I think it would be worth testing.” He thought somewhat glumly about how quickly this day seemed to be passing. “Although perhaps not right now.”  
  
“Agreed,” Kieran said, to his relief. “We should put our heads together and come up with a list of recommendations for the report.”  
  
Eliot nodded, hoping that his part of the report wouldn’t take too much time to complete. It wasn’t like he actually had a great deal to contribute.  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said, to both of them.  
  
“All part of the service,” Kieran quipped, grinning.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Eliot said.  
  
Astrid carefully positioned herself on the start line, apparently intent on trying to shave another few seconds off the time it took her to cover the short distance. Before she could move, though, Kieran spoke up.  
  
“Astrid,” he said. “Before you try that again, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Feel free to tell me if I’m being unduly nosy, and you’re certainly under no obligation to answer, but when you use your power, do you focus on the process or the end point?”  
  
“I’m… afraid I’m not entirely certain what you mean,” Astrid said, frowning. “Can you please clarify that?”  
  
Kieran thought for a moment. “Do you work step by step, manipulating individual bonds until you achieve the desired effect? Or do you focus on the goal, and let your power’s equivalent of subroutines handle the details?”  
  
“It… varies,” she said, somewhat unhelpfully. But, after a moment, she went on to clarify her answer a little. “For movement, it’s more the latter. Unless it’s something complicated, I guess. But to change materials — like turning graphite into carbon — so far I’ve concentrated on the bonds, rather than the effect.”  
  
“Have you changed other materials?” Kieran asked.  
  
Astrid hesitated, and then said: “Sand to glass.” She frowned. “Although, after the experiments earlier, I’m not actually sure why that worked.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Eliot asked, a little interested despite himself.  
  
“Well, I’d figured it was because the sand was part of the footpath, which must have counted as an object to my power.”  
  
“A footpath?” Eliot interjected, startled. A footpath was an object? That was ridiculous.  
  
“I don’t make the rules,” Astrid said, giving him a wry smile. “Anyway, I haven’t confirmed it. Like I said, that was my working hypothesis.”  
  
“Was?” Kieran asked.  
  
“Yes,” she said. “But the sand grains were separate. Like the metal pieces that were only tied together. And I know I fused more sand grains than the ones I was actually in physical contact with.”  
  
She seemed a little uneasy, although Eliot wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe because turning part of a footpath to glass was pretty much the textbook definition of an act of vandalism. Not to mention potentially dangerous to unsuspecting walkers. He hoped she’d cleared up after herself. Although, that did raise a question…  
  
“Why did you want to turn part of a footpath to glass?” Eliot asked, before he could think better of it.  
  
“Eliot, please retract that question,” Kimberly said, and if he managed not to startle at the voice in his ear this time, it was because he was too distracted by the way Astrid went completely still and blank, almost like a mannequin. And the way that, as if to make up for her sudden stillness, metal rippled and flowed around her body, reshaping itself ever-so-slightly. If it were a garment, rather than a mass of steel, he would have said it was as if it now… fit her better.  
  
He wondered distantly if he should be concerned by the fact that Astrid’s hands were clenched into fists, the ‘gauntlets’ of her armour now looking much more worthy of the name with their new and sharp-looking adornments.  
  
“You don’t have to answer that question, Astrid.” Kieran’s voice, on the other hand, did startle him, and he was a little disconcerted to realise that he’d been standing there staring, every bit as frozen as Astrid, instead of following Kimberly’s directive.  
  
“Yes,” he said, belatedly, scrambling for words. “I… shouldn’t have asked. Please accept my apologies.”  
  
After what felt like a lifetime, Astrid turned to look at him — was she actually moving more easily now, or was that just his imagination? — and nodded.  
  
“It’s alright,” she said, her voice wooden. “No harm done.”  
  
Well, that was blatantly untrue. She was obviously agitated, no matter how she concealed it behind a blank expression and a flat voice. But, under the circumstances, he was hardly going to argue with her.  
  
And he certainly wasn’t going to feel guilty. He regretted that his question had caused her distress, of course, but if the subject was so sensitive for her, perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. She had to have expected that there would be questions. And, if she hadn’t, well, that showed a distressing lack of foresight on her part.  
  
But telling her that would solve nothing. He only hoped that, in future, she would think before bringing up matters that she didn’t actually want to discuss.  
  
“That’s good,” he said, hoping they could just put this awkwardness behind them and move on.  
  
He was almost surprised at how relieved he was when she unclenched her fists, the spikes melting back into the metal until no trace of them remained. Not that he’d really feared for his safety, but…  
  
It was clearly Curtis’ fault, harping on about nervousness and jinxing things, putting all that nonsense into his head. But there was no reason to get worked up over nothing. Normal people didn’t respond with violence just because someone asked a question that agitated them. There was no reason to think that Astrid would have done anything… untoward. And it was only to be expected that she might have trouble controlling her emotions. She was only young, after all, and adolescents felt things so very strongly.  
  
Which was something he would most definitely not be saying aloud.  
  
(Especially when she was carrying all that steel)  
  
(Especially when that steel would apparently obey her every command.)  
  
(Especially when that seemed to include subconscious commands.)  
  
“Do you want to take a break?” Kieran asked Astrid gently.  
  
She shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m fine to continue.”  
  
For a moment, Eliot thought that Kieran was going to insist; a thought that left him feeling a little conflicted. On the one hand, given how much they had to get through, he wasn’t certain they really had all that much time to spare. On the other hand, he wouldn’t have minded a few minutes to collect his thoughts in peace and quiet. But it proved to be a moot point in the end.  
  
“Alright, then,” Kieran said, with a creditable — if not entirely convincing — attempt at his usual good cheer. “Let’s try that one more time, shall we?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

_I have a bad feeling about this,_ Kieran thought.  
  
He was this close to skipping this part of the test, Psych be damned. But…  
  
But.  
  
There was a question they needed to answer, and whether or not the outcome was what he suspected, it would certainly be a useful thing to know. For Astrid, as well as for Psych, and for the PRT. And she was so very determined to master all the ins and outs of her power.  
  
In the end, that was why he decided to go ahead.  
  
It most certainly wasn’t Kimberly’s voice in his ear.  
  
In any case, it was time to stop woolgathering.  
  
Mentally apologising to Astrid — and Eliot, who had been kept blissfully ignorant at Psych’s request — he hit the enter key on the laptop, executing a command.  
  
Nothing apparently happened.  
  
Astrid took another step forward.  
  
Suddenly, something hurtled through the air, heading right for her. It was going fast, much too fast for her to dodge, and any moment now it was going to smack right into her…  
  
Except she was turning — whirling, really — metal flowing with and past her as she flung out one arm, lashing out with a thin whip of metal to smack the missile aside. But a second projectile was already in the air, the launchers unerringly on-target, thanks to the additional laser-beams now criss-crossing the route of her promenade. More whips extended from the metal around her arms as she almost danced through the testing area (incidentally breaking more of the invisible laser beams), her movements graceful and economical, blocking one object after another as they streaked through the air towards her.  
  
Kieran spared a glance for Eliot, who’d jumped visibly at the appearance of the first missile and now seemed frozen in place, watching the display with wide eyes. It was an amusing sight, more so because of Eliot’s general reserve. Still, he couldn’t help worrying a little about how the man might react to having been kept in the dark about this little exercise.  
  
But he was getting distracted.  
  
Focusing his attention on Astrid again, Kieran was startled to realise that, during the moment or so that he’d taken his eyes off her, she’d left the track and was bearing down on one of the launchers. He dithered for a moment more, and then made up his mind.  
  
“Astrid, stop,” he called out, deactivating the launchers. She froze in the act of lashing out with a cable, pulling it back as she turned to face him, standing up straight with her arms at her sides. It almost looked like she was standing to attention. He was expecting the cables to melt back into her armour, but they didn’t. Instead, they arrayed themselves around her in a configuration that looked… defensive.  
  
 _Interesting._  
  
Astrid watched him warily. “Sir?” she said, which might not have been the the ‘what the hell was that?’ he would have uttered in her place, but he assumed that was the underlying subtext. Except undoubtedly phrased more politely.  
  
“Just Kieran, please,” he reminded her, smiling, startled when the cables surrounding her seemed to twitch a little.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said.  
  
“No apology necessary,” he assured her, mentally kicking himself for even mentioning it in the first place. But that couldn’t be helped now. “Anyway,” said, smiling broadly. “Well done! Sorry about springing that on you without warning, but the surprise was part of the test.”  
  
“I understand,” she said. She frowned a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t complete the course.”  
  
He blinked at that, but recovered from his surprise. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Seriously. It was mainly just a distraction, anyway. We were more interested in how your power responds to surprise attacks, and apparently the answer is…” He made a point of looking at the balls scattered here and there across the floor. “Effectively.” Partly because he felt she could do with the reassurance, and partly because he genuinely meant it, he added: “Like I said: you did well.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, and she actually smiled back at him.  
  
“That was quite impressive,” Eliot said quietly. “Especially in light of your previous difficulties just with moving.” Kieran had to give the man credit: he seemed to have recovered his composure quickly enough. He just hoped Eliot didn’t hold a grudge. Or that, if he did, it was against Psych and not Kieran himself.  
  
(Kimberly had claimed it was to minimise the chance of losing the element of surprise. The surprise, after all, was the point of the exercise. And Kieran did understand that. He just couldn’t help wondering if it was really the only reason.)  
  
“I wasn’t even thinking about moving the metal,” she said, looking a little startled. “I was just reacting.”  
  
“Try moving now,” Kieran said.  
  
Astrid nodded, but stayed exactly where she was. Her jaw tightened, and she muttered something that sounded a lot like: “Hellfire and damnation,” before plodding her way over towards Kieran and Eliot.  
  
“That’s an interesting choice of epithet,” Kieran said, unable to keep his amusement entirely in check despite Astrid’s obvious disappointment in her power’s apparent lack of cooperation.  
  
“I picked it up in church, I think,” she said, seeming a little embarrassed. “I guess the phrase must have stuck with me.”  
  
“I like it,” Kieran said, resisting the urge to start asking questions about her background. (And to start comparing notes about fire and brimstone preachers with colourful turns of phrase.) “But I take it that means you’re back to having to concentrate on moving the metal with you?”  
  
“It seems that way,” she said, sounding decidedly unimpressed.  
  
“Do you mind if we try that one more time?” he asked, after checking the laptop screen to confirm that there were still enough balls left in the launchers for another attempt.  
  
“Of course not,” she said, giving him a decidedly peculiar look as she took her position on the start line again.  
  
“Alright then,” he said, activating the system once more. “Whenever you’re ready…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Eliot_ **

 

The contrast between the previous attempt and this one could not have been more pronounced. Eliot almost couldn’t believe he was watching the same individual. Where before Astrid had moved with (deadly) graceful precision, she was now back to the same plodding pace of her earlier efforts, barely able to keep her movements halfway smooth, let alone actually block the projectiles pelting her from all sides.  
  
Okay, ‘from all sides’ was something of an exaggeration. He counted maybe four launchers at most. That was still enough to be challenging, though, especially with their accuracy and rate of fire.  
  
 _Although,_ he thought. _Perhaps ‘pelting’ is also an exaggeration._  
  
The balls actually seemed fairly soft, judging by the fact that the impacts were relatively soundless. Which made sense. They were hardly going to use tennis balls, after all. He dreaded to think of the kind of fuss that her parents would raise if she came back covered in bruises. Not that they would likely bruise through all that steel. Still, there was always a risk that one might hit her in the face.  
  
 _Better safe than sorry,_ he supposed.  
  
Speaking of which, he couldn’t help wondering if he was in the line of fire where he was standing. The projectiles might not be dangerous, but that didn’t mean he particularly wanted to be hit by one of them. Kieran didn’t seem concerned, though. He was leaning casually on the bench, his attention on Astrid, and he didn’t even twitch as new projectiles streaked through the air. Eliot moved a little closer to him, just in case.  
  
“Dammit!” Astrid muttered, as another ball bounced off her shoulder.  
  
Eliot wondered when Kieran was going to put an end to this farce. He honestly couldn’t see the benefit of continuing any further, not when it was clearly the element of surprise that was the most significant factor. Perceived threat, perhaps?  
  
“Alright, I think we’ll leave this for now,” Kieran said, apparently thinking along similar lines.  
  
“Just a few more,” Astrid ground out, before he could stop the launchers. “Please,” she added belatedly, modulating her tone to something a little less like a growl.  
  
“Okay,” Kieran said, although he looked a little dubious.  
  
“Thanks,” Astrid muttered distantly, her attention apparently on the launchers. She drew in an audible breath, and then suddenly sped up. Not with the grace and ease of before, no — not even close; her movements were oddly jerky, and she seemed to stumble a couple of times — but she was definitely faster. Fast enough, in fact, to actually smack aside the next ball. She missed the next one, though, and narrowly missed the one after that, but then she got two in succession.  
  
Eliot thought perhaps she used a touch more force than was really necessary, but perhaps she was working out some of her frustration.  
  
(And, if so, the sentiment was better directed at inanimate objects than…)  
  
“Please stop the test,” Kimberly said.  
  
Eliot wondered a little about the firmness of her voice; the words a clear demand despite the ‘please.’ Kieran didn’t show any sign of concern, though, nor of hesitation, reaching out to deactivate the launchers right away.  
  
“Well done, Astrid,” Kieran said. “But I think it’s time to move on to something else.”  
  
“I can do better,” Astrid said, earnestly. “It should get easier with practice.”  
  
“I’m sure it will,” Kieran said, giving her an encouraging smile. “But we do have quite a few other things to get through today.”  
  
“You did get better towards the end,” Eliot said, feeling as if he should probably add his own words of encouragement. Even if he was wondering why she hadn’t tried whatever it was that had made such a difference earlier.  
  
“Definitely!” Kieran agreed.  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said. Strangely, she seemed apprehensive, rather than pleased. Eliot despaired of ever understanding the teenage mind. Had he ever been that odd? Well… Yes, in all likelihood. But not in the same way, he was reasonably sure.  
  
At least his reactions and emotional responses had made sense.  
  
“Okay,” Kieran said, glancing at his watch. “We’ll take a brief break, and then move onto the next set of tests. Astrid, please put the metal on the pallet over there.” He pointed towards the pallet in question. Astrid nodded and divested herself of the steel, sending it flowing to the designated spot. Eliot marvelled at how easy that seemed to be for her, especially in light of her previous difficulties. “Eliot,” Kieran continued. “Would you mind helping me clear up these balls? We wouldn’t want anyone to trip.” He suited the action to the words, scooping up some of the scattered objects and then dropping them into a hopper.  
  
“Of course,” Eliot said, moving to join him. Eliot wondered idly why he didn’t just have a technician do this, but he supposed it wasn’t precisely an onerous task. And, between the two of them, it wouldn’t take long.  
  
 _Actually, make that three…_  
  
After leaving the steel as a neat cube, Astrid joined them in clearing up.  
  
“Polyurethane,” she commented, frowning a little as squeezed one of the soft projectiles experimentally. “Very low density. Lots of air pockets.” She glanced at Kieran as she dropped the ball into the hopper. “These wouldn’t have hurt even if I hadn’t had the metal.”  
  
Eliot wasn’t certain, but beneath the very carefully enunciated words, he thought he could hear an undercurrent of… irritation?  
  
“Of course not,” Kieran replied, raising his eyebrows.  
  
“You sound…” Part-way through the sentence, Eliot changed his mind about what he was going to say. Rather than ‘annoyed,’ he instead went with: “Surprised.” It wasn’t inaccurate.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “I started out by learning how to block golf balls,” she said matter of factly. “And I didn’t have armour then.”  
  
Eliot found himself exchanging a glance with Kieran, who was apparently just as lost for words. Surely that couldn’t be a PRT-approved training technique… Could it?  
  
“Please be careful with this line of questioning,” Kimberly cautioned, apparently not lost for words. “But if Astrid is willing to talk, proceed cautiously.”  
  
“Golf balls?” Eliot echoed, not sure what else to say.  
  
“Yes,” Astrid said, looking at him like she was wondering whether he was hard of hearing.  
  
“Not actually aimed at you, though. Right?” Kieran asked.  
  
 _Of course,_ Eliot thought, a little relieved. That made much more sense than what he’d been thinking. Except now Astrid’s puzzled, slightly disbelieving look was turned on Kieran.  
  
“Of course they were aimed at me,” she said, sounding a little confused. “Why wouldn’t they be?”  
  
“Because being hit by a golf ball stings?” Kieran said.  
  
Eliot wondered if Kieran was speaking from personal experience. He wouldn’t have pegged his boss for a golfer, but it would hardly be the first time someone had surprised him.  
  
Astrid stared at Kieran for a moment before replying. “That was kind of the point,” she said carefully. “It was excellent motivation to get it right.” She shrugged. “And it worked.” She glanced around, and went to pick up another stray foam ball.  
  
“Who was throwing golf balls at you?” Eliot asked, because he couldn’t believe that was actually a part of her Ward training.  
  
She stiffened. “Does it matter?” she asked, tightly, not looking at either of them. “Like I said, it worked. Anyway, I think the floor is clear. Are we going to start the next test now?”  
  
It was fairly clear that the previous line of conversation had come to an end.  
  
“Ten minutes,” Kieran said, despite looking like he wanted to ask more questions. “Go grab some refreshments or hit the bathroom or whatever.”  
  
“Okay,” she said. She checked her watch and then strode off in the direction of the restrooms. Eliot watched her leave, and then turned to Kieran. Now that they had a little privacy, there was a question he wanted to ask. It wasn’t something that had been appropriate to bring up in front of Astrid, but now that he had the opportunity to air it, he felt his irritation returning in full force. He opened his mouth to speak, but Kieran got there first.  
  
“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads up about the surprise test,” he said, his apparently genuine contrition quite taking the wind out of Eliot’s sails. “I would’ve done if it was up to me, but Psych didn’t want to risk tipping Astrid off ahead of time. Buy you a drink to make up for it?”  
  
“Oh,” said Eliot, reeling a little. “Well… that’s alright. I understand.”  
  
He was still a little peeved, but as long as there was a reason, he supposed he’d get over it. And he would hardly have expected Kieran not to follow such an edict. It had been made very clear to them all that Psychology were the ones who called the shots when it came to parahuman evaluations.  
  
“Great!” Kieran said, grinning. He clapped Eliot on the shoulder, which Eliot bore with good grace. “I wasn’t kidding about that drink, though. You should join us next time we have a group outing. It’ll give you the chance to get to know the team a bit outside the lab.”  
  
Eliot could think of nothing he wanted less. But maybe if he went to one such event, they’d stop pestering him about it.  
  
“Maybe,” he hedged. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”  
  
“You do that,” Kieran said, affably.  
  
“Kieran,” Kimberly’s voice broke in, making Eliot jump. “Can you please ask Astrid to return any metal she might still be carrying?”  
  
Kieran and Eliot exchanged puzzled glances.  
  
“Did she keep some back?” Kieran asked, after first glancing around, presumably to make sure Astrid hadn’t returned from the bathroom.  
  
“I’m not certain,” Kimberly replied. “But I think it’s worth making sure. If she has, though, please reassure her that she isn’t in trouble.”  
  
“Shouldn’t she be, though?” Eliot couldn’t stop himself from asking. “I mean, if she’s trying to steal PRT property…”  
  
Vandalism and theft? What kind of delinquent was this girl?  
  
“It’s not quite that simple, Eliot,” Kimberly said. “Please trust me on this, and don’t interfere.”  
  
“Very well,” he said, after a moment.  
  
“Thank you,” Kimberly replied, sounding genuinely grateful. “In fact, would you mind heading upstairs? I think this is a conversation best held in private.”  
  
As if there was any true privacy here. Still, he did as she bade him, saying nothing more than a simple: “Of course.”  
  
Kimberly clearly had her reasons, after all.  
  
He just wished he knew what they were.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

Kieran glanced up from the steel cube he was ostensibly examining, trying to ignore the tightness between his shoulder blades and at the base of his neck. He was starting to realise that he really didn’t like this aspect of the evaluation. Sure, it had been kind of fun watching Eliot jump a mile when the balls started flying through the air, but there was a huge difference between that and asking Astrid something that he knew was going to put her on edge. Anyway, even if she had kept back a little of the metal — assuming, of course, that she actually had; Kimberly had said she wasn’t certain, after all — what was the harm, really? They were hardly going to miss a small piece or two. And if it made her feel more comfortable, maybe it would actually help the evaluation go more smoothly.  
  
All this went through his mind in the time it took Astrid to notice him. She paused, eyeing him cautiously.  
  
“Is there a problem?” she asked.  
  
“No,” he said. “I was just wondering… Is this all of the steel?”  
  
She went very still. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly. “I didn’t mean to take it. And I was going to put it back.”  
  
That answered that question, then.  
  
“Well, no harm done,” Kieran said, hoping he sounded sufficiently reassuring. “Could you please put it with the rest?”  
  
Astrid nodded and headed towards him, coming to a halt next to the metal cube. She reached out and rested her fingertips on its surface, and metal flowed out from under her sleeves to merge with it. When she’d finished, she stepped back and looked at him.  
  
“That’s all of it,” she said. She took a breath, seeming to draw herself up a little straighter, and asked: “Am I going to be punished for taking it?”  
  
“No, of course not,” he said, staring at her in bewilderment. “You’re not in trouble,” he continued, feeling way out of his depth right now. “Like I said before, I don’t really have any stones to cast when it comes to absentmindedly walking off with things. Anyway, you’ve returned it now, so, like I said: no harm done. Okay?”  
  
She looked at him for a moment, and then nodded. “Okay.”  
  
It was hard to tell if she meant it.  
  
He drew breath to tell her to head on upstairs, but Kim interrupted him to say: “Kieran, please ask Astrid what she did differently during the last part of the test.”  
  
That was something he’d been wanting to know, but he’d been planning on giving Astrid a chance to unwind a little before quizzing her about it. Presumably Kimberly had her reasons for making the request now, however.  
  
“So, I was wondering,” he said, a little surprised that, despite his misgivings, he still managed to sound jovial. “How did you manage that sudden burst of speed in the armour? It didn’t seem as instinctive as when I surprised you with the projectiles, but you were definitely faster than you had been. What did you do differently?”  
  
He hoped that asking about a technical aspect of her power would bring out the enthusiasm she’d displayed previously, but if anything it was just the opposite.  
  
“I didn’t really do anything differently, per se,” she said carefully, her expression blank. “I just stopped being so… overly-cautious.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Kieran asked, filled with foreboding.  
  
“Part of the reason I was so slow before was because I was concentrating so hard on making the metal match my movements exactly. But I realised that I could increase my speed by reducing that precision,” she explained, like it was the most normal thing in the world. She shrugged. “It worked.”  
  
“That was dangerous,” Kieran told her. “There’s a reason I told you to take it slowly, and to make the metal follow you, rather than the other way around. It can move in ways you just can’t. Sacrificing precision for speed increases the risk of, say, tearing a muscle or bending an elbow the wrong way. You could have hurt yourself. You-“ He broke off as something like looked like unease flickered in Astrid’s eyes. “Did you hurt yourself?” he asked.  
  
“No,” she said, but there was that uneasy, maybe even guilty, look again.  
  
“Astrid,” he said, sternly. “Tell me the truth.”  
  
“I am telling the truth,” she insisted. “I’m not hurt. It’s just…” She seemed to wilt slightly. “A couple of possible bruises and maybe a light strain. Nothing serious, and definitely nothing torn or broken. It barely even counts as surface damage, and it’s certainly nothing that’s going to impair my mobility in any way. I’m perfectly fine to continue.”  
  
That was what she thought he was worried about? Completing the evaluation?  
  
As he was struggling to find the words, Kimberly’s voice came through his earbud: “Please ask her why she took that risk.”  
  
“Why did you risk seriously injuring yourself like that?” he asked, thankful for the guidance.  
  
Astrid was silent for a few moments. When she spoke, her voice was barely audible. “I didn’t want to fail.”  
  
There were so many possible responses to that. He so badly wanted to ask her what she thought would happen if she failed, but he was afraid he could guess. Besides, Psych would undoubtedly be highly displeased with him if he asked anything of the sort.  
  
In the end, all he could do was try to reassure her once again.  
  
Maybe it would even stick this time.  
  
“Astrid,” he began, gently. “Like I told you earlier, you can’t really fail here. That isn’t what this is about. Some things will work, some things won’t. That’s just the way it goes. All we’re really after here is a general idea of what you can do. There’ll be plenty of time to practice specific techniques when you get back to Brockton Bay. It certainly isn’t worth injuring yourself trying to get everything perfectly right first time. None of us want that. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes,” she said, softly.  
  
He hoped that was true, but then she’d said as much last time and it clearly hadn’t sunk in then. He wasn’t really sure what else he could do, though.  
  
This really was way outside his comfort zone.  
  
“Good,” he said anyway, hoping that the repetition would help. “So, in future, are you going to be more careful not to hurt yourself?”  
  
She hesitated a moment, and then nodded. “I’ll try,” she said, which wasn’t quite the unequivocal agreement he was hoping for, but he suspected it was the best he was going to get right now.  
  
“Good,” he said again, and smiled. “Well, I guess we’d better call on Yas’ services as first-aider again before we continue.”  
  
“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Astrid said swiftly. “Like I said, there’s no real damage. I already checked.”  
  
“I’d rather make certain,” Kieran said. “Better safe than sorry, and all that.”  
  
Astrid frowned, but she didn’t protest further. “Alright,” she said, sounding reluctant. “Should I go upstairs, or wait down here?”  
  
“You might as well come up,” Kieran decided. “You can have a proper break after Yas has taken a look at you.”  
  
“I really don’t need one,” she said, earnestly. “And I don’t want to hold up the testing any further. You said there was a lot to get through.”  
  
“There is,” he said, almost regretting his earlier words. “But a few minutes aren’t going to do any harm. And the longer we stand around arguing, the longer this will take.”  
  
Anyway, she might not have needed a break, but he **really** did.  
  
Power evaluations were stressful.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Eliot_ **

 

“Well?” Curtis asked, almost before Eliot had made it through the door. “How did it go?”  
  
“Reasonably well, I suppose,” Eliot replied, after considering his answer for a moment. “I believe I carried out my part adequately, and Astrid seemed reasonably competent at everything apart from moving quickly in armour.” He frowned a little, trying not to think about the way she’d effortlessly blocked the projectiles when surprised. (Or the way she’d formed spiked gauntlets when he’d asked a question she hadn’t liked.) “I think that’s going to take some practice.”  
  
“And what was it like being next to a cape using their powers?” Curtis asked. “That was your first time seeing it up close and personal, right?”  
  
“It was, yes,” he confirmed, suppressing the completely ridiculous urge to shudder as he took a seat. “And it was… interesting, I suppose. It was certainly an experience.”  
  
“Not having second thoughts, are you?” Nick asked, sounding like he was laughing at some secret joke. Eliot wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the man. At least he wasn’t overly chatty, unlike certain people not a million miles away from here. But, on occasion, he did seem to have a certain… puckish streak that Eliot found he didn’t overly care for.  
  
“Second thoughts about what?” he asked. Not that he couldn’t guess, but he wanted to make sure Nick spelled it out before he answered. Better to avoid walking into any traps that way.  
  
“Working here.”  
  
“No, of course not,” Eliot said. “As I understand it, we won’t generally be expected to participate in many of these evaluations, so it shouldn’t prove too disruptive.”  
  
Nick shrugged. “Just saw that wide-eyed look when Astrid was taking out projectiles left, right and centre. Seemed like it had finally sunk in that being around parahumans is a little like being around someone carrying a loaded gun.”  
  
Eliot frowned a little. He wasn’t sure that was accurate. Not really. He just… Up until that point, he’d been viewing Astrid’s power as a curiosity at best. She had made a block of graphite explode, but he’d seen that more as a laboratory accident than a potential weapon. And when she’d crafted structures from metal, he’d thought of her power as merely substituting for a good workshop. But when he’d seen her move and strike, it had finally sunk in that she could use her powers as a weapon.  
  
That she would be learning how to use her powers as a weapon.  
  
Actually, maybe the loaded gun analogy wasn’t such a bad one after all.  
  
“That isn’t an entirely inapt analogy, I suppose,” he admitted, grudgingly. “But it was nothing I hadn’t been aware of before.”  
  
“Little different seeing it in person, though, right?” Nick actually sounded sympathetic now. Hmm. Maybe he’d misjudged his intent here.  
  
“A little,” he agreed, giving Nick a polite smile. “But I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”  
  
It was nothing he couldn’t deal with. And he presumed that part of Astrid’s training would involve learning to keep her power under control. Like learning how to use a gun safely and appropriately, he supposed.  
  
So there was really no reason to worry.  
  
“You will,” Curtis assured him. “We’ve all been through it, and it does get easier.” He gave a wry smile. “Especially when you actually have time to acclimatise, rather than having it shoved in your face, metaphorically speaking.”  
  
Eliot blinked at Curtis for a moment, confused, and then the penny dropped. “Was that why the Psychology liaison didn’t want Kieran to tell me about the last test? So they could see how I would react to Astrid using her powers that way?”  
  
Against his better judgement, he felt the first stirrings of anger. He was a scientist, not a test subject; not the one being evaluated. And… had everyone else known? Was he the only one who’d been kept in the dark? Had they been tittering about it behind his back? Maybe speculating on how hilarious his reaction was going to be?  
  
(Was this going to be like MIT all over again?)  
  
“We don’t know for certain,” Curtis said, putting the brakes on his train of thought before it could pick up too much speed. “But it makes sense that it would be at least part of the reason. Which doesn’t mean there weren’t other, perfectly valid, reasons too, of course.” His smile broadened. “And no, we didn’t know ahead of time, either.”  
  
“Am I that transparent?” Eliot asked, a little surprised. He’d always been told he was hard to read, at least by people who didn’t know him.  
  
“No,” Curtis said. “But it was the question I asked, when something similar happened to me.” He patted Eliot on the back in what was probably meant to be a comradely gesture. Eliot bore it stoically, resisting the urge to pull away. “Don’t worry, though. Psych don’t generally make a habit of yanking our chains. From what I heard, it mainly seems to happen during evaluations, and we don’t tend to be involved in too many of those. Otherwise, you can generally ignore them.”  
  
“That’s good to know,” Eliot said, somewhat bemused by this whole conversation. He was almost startled to realise, though, that he actually did feel a little better for it.  
  
Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to go out for drinks with his new colleagues. Just once wouldn’t hurt, right?  
  
“Excuse me.” He looked up to see Vincent smiling genially at the three of them. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Vincent continued, focusing on Eliot. “I was just wondering: do you happen to know if Astrid is on her way up?”  
  
Eliot bit back a sarcastic comment about his masters not keeping him sufficiently informed. It wouldn’t help anything, he knew. Anyway, it wasn’t like Vincent was calling the shots. He was just an intern, after all. And he seemed like a fairly pleasant young man. There was no point making him a target for Eliot’s irritation with the Psychology team.  
  
“She’ll be up shortly, I believe. Kieran was having a chat with her.”  
  
“Another one?” Curtis asked. “Do you know what it’s about?”  
  
“Kimberly thought she might have hung onto some of the steel she was using for the tests,” he replied, seeing no reason not to answer. “She wanted Kieran to ask her about it, in private. Hence why I was banished up here ahead of them.”  
  
“I see,” Vincent said, frowning. “Thank you.”  
  
“She must really miss those bracelets of hers,” Curtis murmured.  
  
Eliot vaguely remembered Curtis mentioning some jewellery that Kieran — at Kimberly’s behest — had made her remove. He hadn’t really paid much attention.  
  
“Probably doesn’t like feeling unarmed,” Nick murmured. Eliot and Curtis both stared at him. He shrugged, his expression amused. “You’ve seen what she can do with metal. You really think she carries a bunch of stainless steel around as a fashion accessory?”  
  
“I hadn’t really thought about it like that,” Curtis said, looking as startled as Eliot felt.  
  
“Of course you didn’t,” Nick said, shaking his head. He started to say something else, but broke off, apparently listening to something. “Sounds like they’re coming back.”  
  
Now that he was paying attention, Eliot could hear footsteps on the stairs. It looked like this conversation was over for the time being.  
  
 _So,_ he found himself thinking. _Vandalism, theft and carrying a concealed weapon._  
  
And this girl was one of the heroes.


	6. Chapter 6

**_Kimberly_ **

 

Kimberly checked her watch, a little surprised at how quickly the time seemed to be passing. Still, that was always the way. Or, at least, that was how it seemed to her. It was rare that she ended a session without wishing she’d had just a little longer with the subject; been able to dig just a little deeper. In a way, that was the frustrating thing about these evaluations. The initial interview was, of necessity, something of a whistle-stop tour. There were certain subjects that had to be covered — in this metaphor, she supposed these would be landmarks, or perhaps stations — but there was insufficient time to do so in any real depth, let alone to take detours. No matter how interesting they looked.  
  
(She suddenly found herself remembering a European holiday she and some friends had taken after graduating college. What with one thing and another, it turned out that they’d had far less time than they’d initially planned for, but no one could agree on what part of the itinerary they should sacrifice. So they simply… hadn’t. Instead, they’d tried to squeeze four weeks’ worth of what was already a fairly packed sightseeing schedule into a fortnight. It had been exhausting. Kimberly barely even remembered most of the second week, sleep having been the one thing they were all willing to give up in the name of fun.)  
  
(To this day, she still didn’t remember actually posing for a photo with a whole café full of mimes and living statues. But… maybe that was for the best.)  
  
(They kept talking about going back to do that European sightseeing holiday properly one of these days, but they hadn’t managed it yet. Every now and then they’d get as far as actually planning it out, but something had always seemed to come up before they could get any further.)  
  
(It was just so hard to find the time.)  
  
Time was always an issue.  
  
In an ideal world, they’d conduct several interviews with each new parahuman over an extended period. In between the interviews, they’d conduct various tests, both of the parahumans’ powers, and their stress responses. There would be the opportunity to refine those tests, and to ask follow-up questions about any issues that arose. They wouldn’t be limited to merely asking about any emotional and psychological effects of power use — they’d be able to witness any such effects for themselves.  
  
Unfortunately, this world was very far from that ideal. Even scheduling the two days allotted as standard sometimes had its difficulties. It wasn’t so much the directors wanting their new parahumans back quickly as it was that the facility already had a week’s backlog of scheduled evaluations. Any extra time they had to spend would only add to that. Keeping it to only a week’s backlog took some kind of arcane juggling act. And that didn’t even take into account the difficulties they often had with getting the subjects to cooperate with the testing for that long. More often than she’d like, they were lucky to get half a day’s worth of testing out of them.  
  
No, Kimberly knew the idea was impractical. It would just be nice to have a little more time.  
  
Still, she wasn’t a counsellor. It wasn’t her job to get to the heart of her subjects’ various issues. This wasn’t therapy. Nor was it research, at least not primarily. (And by this point, she barely even noticed the mild irritation she felt at the fact that parahumans seemed less willing to volunteer for psychology research projects than they did for those with more… tangible goals.) No, it was an evaluation.  
  
And it was time she got on with it.  
  
Anyway, she’d probably let Astrid stew for long enough by now.  
  
The girl ostensibly seemed quite comfortable waiting for Kimberly to finish making her notes. She didn’t fidget, or shift in her seat, or look around the room, or ask what was taking so long. Andrew had noted that the sensors showed signs of mild anxiety, but that was all.  
  
Apparently, impatience wasn’t one of her problems.  
  
Kimberly wondered whether she was using her power to distract herself. From what she knew of parahumans, that wasn’t uncommon.  
  
“Sorry about that,” Kimberly said, meeting Astrid’s gaze with an apologetic smile.  
  
“No problem, Ma’am,” Astrid said politely, although she showed a brief flicker of surprise at Kimberly’s words.  
  
“Well, I hope you weren’t too bored waiting for me to catch up.”  
  
“Not at all, Ma’am.”  
  
“I suppose at least you have your power to keep yourself occupied,” Kimberly said, taking a gamble. It was not the most subtle of prompts, but more delicate approaches seemed to generally be less than successful at drawing Astrid out. She would answer direct questions, but her willingness to cooperate seemed not to extend as far as volunteering information unprompted.  
  
“That certainly made her anxious,” Andrew murmured.  
  
“Is… that a problem, Ma’am?” Astrid asked, which was probably a confirmation that, yes, she had been using her power.  
  
“No, not at all,” Kimberly said, keeping her tone light. “I was just making an observation, that’s all.”  
  
This wasn’t the first time Astrid had read implied criticism where none was intended, and Kimberly was certain it wouldn’t be the last.  
  
For the moment, though, there was another subject she wanted to address.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

Kieran strode through the door, his gaze flicking over the room until it settled on the person he was looking for.  
  
“Yas, can I borrow you a second?” he asked, trying to keep the concern out of his voice.  
  
“Sure, what’s up?” she asked, giving him a curious look as she left her conversation with Mel, Hugh and Joy and crossed the room to join him.  
  
Trying to ignore the equally curious glances of the room’s other occupants — and the discomfort practically radiating from Astrid, who stood silently beside him — he lowered his voice a little in what was probably a pretty useless attempt at discretion.  
  
“Astrid managed to injure herself during the last test. Can you check her over, just make sure she’s okay?”  
  
“Of course,” Yas said. She turned to give Astrid a stern look. “What did you do to yourself now?” she asked. “You didn’t blow yourself up again, did you?”  
  
“No,” Astrid muttered, flushing a little with what looked like embarrassment. “I’m fine, really.” She didn’t look at Kieran, but it was pretty obvious she thought he was overreacting. And… maybe he was, but he figured that it was far better to err on the side of caution than carelessness. Especially when it came to the wellbeing of a minor who was technically in his care right now.  
  
(A minor who’d decided that it was a perfectly reasonable course of action to risk serious injury just so she didn’t ‘fail’ a test that couldn’t even be failed. Who’d thought he was going to punish her for accidentally walking off with a little bit of metal.)  
  
(Did he really seem like that much of an ogre? Really?)  
  
“Well, I’ll be the judge of that,” Yas said firmly. “Come on. We can use the upstairs restroom for privacy. It’s nicer than the one downstairs.”  
  
Without further ado, she grabbed the first aid kit and hustled Astrid away. Kieran watched them go, trying uselessly not to fret. He knew it was probably fine — Astrid had certainly shown no signs of being injured or in pain — but he couldn’t help worrying. Maybe making himself a coffee would take his mind of it…  
  
When he turned back to the room, he was a little startled to see that everyone was looking at him.  
  
“What?” he said, making himself smile, even though it was the last thing he felt like right now. “Do I have something on my face?”  
  
He knew he didn’t have long until the questions started, so he made a beeline for the coffee machine. Wonder of wonders, there was actually some coffee left in the pot.  
  
Several people started to speak at once, but Vincent cut across them all to ask: “What happened? Is Astrid alright?”  
  
Kieran sighed as he grabbed a clean-looking mug from the side and emptied the pot into it.  
  
“Apparently she decided that the best way to improve her speed and manoeuvrability while encased in steel was to completely disregard little, inconsequential things like personal safety.” That, of course, only raised more questions, but he really didn’t have the wherewithal to supply all the necessary context. Right now, he had other priorities. “Eliot, will you explain the set up of the test? I am insufficiently caffeinated for this right now.”  
  
“Of course,” Eliot did, and proceeded to do so in that precise, almost clinical way of his. For his part, Kieran added cream and sugar to his coffee, and downed half of it in one swallow.  
  
 _That’s better…_  
  
It didn’t help that Vargas had woken him up at ridiculous o’ clock this morning and he’d been unable to get back to sleep. Unlike her, he was really not a morning person. And he needed his sleep, dammit.  
  
(He caught sight of the coffee machine that had been here when his team had arrived; a battered looking thing that had definitely seen better days. It also made pretty awful coffee, as Kieran had discovered when he’d tested it out. He’d followed the same protocol he always did, every single time, the one that some joker in his team had written up like a proper SOP; COSHH assessment and everything. He chose to take that as a compliment. Except, this time, his trusty method had failed him. Whatever had come out of that infernal machine, it certainly wasn’t anything he’d care to call coffee.)  
  
(The… The not-coffee, or un-coffee, or maybe even anti-coffee had just tasted watery and… off. A problem with the temperature, maybe? Rust? A nest of spiders?)  
  
(Actually, he wished he hadn’t thought about that last one. But, in any event, it was clear the machine wasn’t fit for purpose, and he didn’t want to contemplate the horror that was an entire day without coffee. So he’d gone back to fetch the one from his office.)  
  
(Maybe he’d just leave his machine here when they left; save future power evaluators from the indignity of poor quality coffee. It wasn’t like he ever really used it anyway. He generally preferred the one in the group’s little kitchenette. Plus, going out there gave him the chance to touch base with his people. And make sure none of them had metaphorically chained themselves to their desks or benches again. Also, he spent way too much time in his office as it was. Going out there reminded him that he was still an engineer and not a bureaucrat.)  
  
(If he did leave his machine here, maybe he’d take the other one back with him and have a go at fixing it. He’d always enjoyed working with his hands. There was a certain zen-like peace to be found in taking something apart and putting it back together again; making it better, improving it. Plus, it helped him think. That was why there was always some malfunctioning something or other in his office that he could fiddle with when the mood took him. He had just finished with the Desk Lamp of Evil — well, Desk Lamp of Irritation, at any rate — so he could do with a new project.)  
  
(It sounded like a plan.)  
  
(Hell, he was half-tempted to dig out his tools and make a start right now, but he resisted. This really wasn’t the time.)  
  
Figuring that someone else was bound to want coffee in the not-too-distant future, he set about making another pot, taking almost as much comfort in the ritual as he did in the end result.  
  
Almost, but not quite.  
  
“…And I assume you saw what happened then,” Eliot finished, to a general chorus of assent.  
  
Kieran supposed the last set of tests had certainly been one of the more interesting ones to watch. Unlike, say, the analysis tests. No matter how cool he found it that Astrid could analyse the composition of a material just by touching it, watching someone touch a bunch of different samples was never going to be the most exciting thing in the world. Especially from up here. This place did have a surprisingly good view of the testing floor, though. Not for the first time, he found himself wondering if it had been designed — or, at least, remodelled — with that in mind.  
  
But Curtis was speaking now. “I guess that means it’s over to you, Kieran,” he said.  
  
“I guess so,” Kieran murmured. He took another fortifying swallow of coffee and tried to gather his thoughts.  
  
“I assume you asked Astrid how she managed to improve her mobility at the end?” Eliot asked, when the gathering process ended up taking him a few moments.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, and set about explaining what she’d said. And, more importantly, what could have happened. Just thinking about the possibilities gave him chills. Maybe Astrid was right, and he was overreacting, but he couldn’t help feeling a little responsible. Perhaps if he’d done a better job of reassuring her earlier, she wouldn’t have felt the need to take that kind of risk.  
  
He half-wished that Psych had actually given him some kind of background on her, or at least some kind of heads up about what to expect. The capes he was most used to dealing with were adults who’d had their powers for some time and were there to collaborate on research projects. Or, in some cases, to act as consultants. He wasn’t used to recently-triggered teenagers who, in addition to being wound tighter than an eight-day clock, were also dangerously competitive and apparently devoid of a healthy survival instinct.  
  
(Not that he thought it really was just competitiveness, not now, but he was trying not to think about what it might be. There were any number of reasons why that was a bad idea, not least among them being that if he thought about it, he might be tempted to say something. And he didn’t need a little voice in his ear to tell him what a bad move that would be.)  
  
Although, he supposed he knew a fair few people who fit some combination of those descriptors.  
  
Most of those weren’t even capes.  
  
In any event, for all his worry over what might have been, the worst hadn’t actually happened. Astrid had said she was fine. Not that he necessarily trusted her judgement in that regard, but he was pretty sure he would have realised if she’d suffered any serious injuries.  
  
He would feel better when he got Yas’ verdict, though.  
  
Hopefully that wouldn’t take too long.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Yasmeena_ **

 

“You’re sure it doesn’t hurt?” Yasmeena said somewhat sceptically, as Astrid pulled her vest back down to cover the site of the ‘light strain’ — one of the muscles in her back — that she’d eventually admitted to having.  
  
Astrid gave her a sidelong look and then twisted from side to side a couple of times, stretching her arms out in front of her.  
  
“It’s fine,” she said quietly.  
  
Yasmeena narrowed her eyes. “So, you’re saying it doesn’t hurt at all.” She kept her voice flat, giving Astrid the sceptical, unimpressed look she turned on research students who, against all reason, logic and evidence to the contrary, insisted that they still had time to carry out all their planned experiments and finish their write-up before the project deadline.  
  
(She was proud of that look, and it had served her well, as had the resting bitch face she’d carefully cultivated while at college. Admittedly, she had less use for the latter here than she had at college, but the former definitely came in handy for her role of ‘bad cop’ to Kieran’s ‘good cop.’ Or, as Curtis had put it: ‘Snarky cop to his Zen cop.’ They hadn’t planned it that way or anything; it was just a pattern they’d fallen into.)  
  
(Kieran was a good manager — in Yasmeena’s opinion, he was the best manager she’d had, bar none — but his understanding and empathic nature could work against him on occasion. He sometimes sugar-coated his words when the situation called for bluntness, or gave people the benefit of the doubt when they really didn’t deserve it. Yasmeena… didn’t have either of those problems.)  
  
Astrid’s general inscrutability meant it was unclear how much effect Yasmeena’s stern look had on her, but she did amend her answer to: “Maybe a very mild twinge every now and then, but nothing worth worrying about. Like I told Dr Bailey: it’s just a very light strain.”  
  
She certainly sounded sincere — and maybe just a tiny bit irritated — but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Not that Yasmeena disagreed with her assessment, per se, but she wanted to be sure. Anyway, she felt she should at least make an effort to discourage Astrid’s somewhat cavalier attitude to her own safety.  
  
Even if she thought she understood that attitude.  
  
And even if she would have probably done exactly the same thing in that situation at Astrid’s age.  
  
“And I suppose you know the difference between a light strain or a serious one? Or even a torn muscle?” she asked.  
  
“Yes, actually,” Astrid said firmly, lifting her chin and steadily holding Yasmeena’s gaze. “And that’s how I know it’s nothing to worry about. It’s not going to impair my mobility in the slightest, and by tomorrow, even that occasional, barely even noticeable twinge will likely be gone completely.” She shrugged, and as far as Yasmeena could tell, the movement didn’t seem at all stiff or painful. “Like I said,” she continued, enunciating the words very precisely. “It’s fine.”  
  
Yasmeena studied her for a moment, keeping the unimpressed look. “As long as you’re careful not to strain it further,” she pointed out.  
  
“I have no intention of damaging myself,” Astrid said, with great dignity. “In any case, that part of the test is complete, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”  
  
Yasmeena frowned. That wasn’t the most reassuring of answers, especially considering that, even without going back to the armour, other parts of the evaluation were likely to be quite physically strenuous. But… the injury really did seem to be a relatively minor one. So, as long as Astrid actually was careful, it shouldn’t be a problem.  
  
(She wondered again why the more physical tests had been taken off the schedule and then abruptly put back on it again this morning. To no one’s great surprise, Psych hadn’t told Kieran the reason; they’d just expected the team to make it work. Which they had, of course. They were ETA: making miracles was what they did. It was just a good thing that Bob’s maintenance had been almost complete. Nick, Joy and Hugh had had to hustle a bit, but they said he was back in full working order and ready to see some action.)  
  
(Yasmeena was looking forward to Astrid’s reaction when she met him.)  
  
“We’ll see,” Yasmeena said, fixing Astrid with a level stare. “You realise that you’re very lucky,” she said quietly, but sternly. “You could have done yourself a serious mischief, taking a risk like that.”  
  
She felt like a bit of a hypocrite saying that, but she supposed she’d just have to cope.  
  
Astrid looked at her for a moment before replying. “I knew what I was doing,” she said quietly. Her lips tightened a little. “It was the only way I even had a chance of being able to pass that test.” She shrugged. “Anyway, there’s no serious damage. I’m fine.”  
  
“Hmm,” Yasmena said. She gave Astrid one last stern look for good measure, and then smiled wryly. “Well, I’m going to be assisting with the next batch of tests, so I suppose I’ll be able to keep an eye on you for a while at least.”  
  
Astrid gave her an extremely offended look before schooling her features into something that could have been mistaken for neutrality if it wasn’t for the tension in her jaw.  
  
“I don’t need anyone to look after me,” she said tightly.  
  
Yasmeena snorted, both amused at and a little impatient with her stubbornness. _Was I ever that bad at her age?_ she wondered. She had a horrible feeling that the answer to that question might have been yes. Certainly according to her parents.  
  
(She tried to push away the black storm cloud of worry and fear that suddenly threatened to descend upon her. Thinking about her parents meant thinking about her mom, which meant… No. She wasn’t going to be negative. She wasn’t. Mom had made her promise.)  
  
(Anyway, her mom seemed to be doing more or less okay right now. Both Dad and the doctor had said so. Even if there was a part of that sentiment that they’d both left unspoken.)  
  
(The part where ‘okay’ wasn’t going to last.)  
  
(But she really didn’t want to think about that right now.)  
  
“It’s not you I’ll be looking out for,” she said tartly, because sympathy was obviously right out as a viable approach. Which, honestly, was just fine with her. Sympathy wasn’t really her thing. “It’s Kieran. He worries about his people, and for today that includes you. Stress really doesn’t agree with him, so I’d rather you didn’t give him a reason to fret. Ensuring you don’t injure yourself further is just a means to an end.”  
  
Astrid looked at her like she really wasn’t sure whether or not Yasmeena was being serious. Also, like she couldn’t quite decide whether or not to be offended.  
  
“Why would Dr Bailey fret about me?” she asked cautiously. “He doesn’t know me from Eve.”  
  
“That’s just his way. He cares,” Yasmeena said, shrugging. Like Astrid, she’d found that trait of his to be strange at first, but now it was something she thought of with fondness. “Now,” she continued briskly. “Don’t think I didn’t see that scrape on your shoulder you’re trying to hide from me. Let me take a look.”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to hide it,” Astrid muttered, flushing a little. “I’d actually forgotten it was there.”  
  
“Of course you weren’t,” Yasmeena murmured, not bothering to conceal her disbelief. She was expecting some kind of retort or protest, but Astrid just moved obediently so Yasmeena could get a closer look at the injury in question.  
  
It was peculiar, the mix of obedience and intransigence Astrid had displayed during the testing so far. Also, the contrast between her mostly subdued, controlled demeanour and her occasional bursts of passion — such as enthusiasm for her experiments, or her anger when Curtis called her a kid. She certainly was a study in contradictions.  
  
But then, much as the sentiment would no doubt annoy her if she knew what Yasmeena was thinking, she was only young. She’d undoubtedly settle down in time. Or, maybe she wouldn’t. She was a parahuman, after all, and many of those seemed to be more than a little… eccentric. At least the ones Yasmeena had met. But then, most of the ones she’d worked with had either been tinkers, or had otherwise been interested in research.  
  
Maybe the eccentricity she’d observed was just a scientist or engineer thing.  
  
She finished her inspection and pulled herself from her thoughts to fix Astrid with another stern look.  
  
“That’s going to need a dressing,” she said firmly. ‘That’ was a broad, yet thankfully not too deep abrasion that trailed from just past the left strap of Astrid’s vest to cross her shoulder and extend partway down her bicep. The whole area was red, and was undoubtedly going to bruise, but Yasmeena’s main concern was the abraded patch.  
  
“I’m not sure it does,” Astrid said, frowning. “I don’t think it’s even bleeding right now.”  
  
She craned her neck to try to inspect the injury for herself, but the location made it difficult for her to get a good look. She turned to the mirror instead, and Yasmeena followed her gaze, a little amused at the study in contrasts they presented. Astrid was tall, blonde and pale. Yasmeena was shorter and slimmer, almost petite — a term she utterly loathed — with dark skin and hair. The contrast made her think of Melanie, who was also tall and pale, although her hair was always dyed some bright colour or other. Sometimes more than one at once.  
  
(In its natural state it was light brown, a colour Mel described as ‘dull and mousy,’ with a self-deprecating smile that always set Yasmeena’s teeth on edge, even if it was only meant in jest. But there were far too many times when it wasn’t, and she hated it when Melanie put herself down. There were enough people in this world who were willing to do that for her — and, as always, there was that sting of shame at the thought that Yasmeena had once been one of those people — she didn’t need to do it for herself.)  
  
She noticed that Astrid was no longer examining her injury but, rather, seemed to be doing the same thing Yasmeena was: studying their reflections. Maybe she was also amused at the contrast between them. Yasmeena smiled and met her gaze in the mirror, intending to make some wry comment, but Astrid immediately flushed and turned away. She seemed uncomfortable.  
  
Yameena raised her eyebrows, a little perplexed at her reaction.  
  
“Something wrong?” she asked, wishing that Melanie was here. She was always better at the whole sympathetic listener thing.  
  
“No,” Astrid said, her voice and expression neutral again. She hesitated a moment and then smiled, although the expression seemed a little off. “Just not used to spending much time in front of mirrors.”  
  
“I get that,” Yasmeena said, smiling back. Maybe there was more to it than that, maybe there wasn’t but, honestly, it wasn’t any of her business. And she wasn’t here to be all understanding and stuff while Astrid talked about whatever was bothering her — not that the kid seemed like the type to gush, thankfully — she was here to do a job. “Right,” she said, briskly. “Come here and let me see to that scrape.”  
  
Astrid frowned. “Is that really necessary?” she asked, sounding a little put upon.  
  
But, despite her words, she did what she was told. Yasmeena approved.  
  
“You took off several layers of skin,” she said, matter-of-factly. “At the very least, covering it will stop it being abraded further.” Astrid just sighed, sounding a little put upon. Yasmeena rolled her eyes and reached for the saline bottle. “This may sting a little,” she said.  
  
“Okay,” Astrid said. She sounded strangely amused, but Yasmeena put it down to just another aspect of her peculiarity. She didn’t so much as twitch when Yasmeena washed the abraded area, patted it dry with a sterile cloth and applied an antiseptic spray. The injury had already seemed clean and not full of fibres, dirt and other detritus. Still, it was better to err on the side of caution.  
  
“How did you even manage to do this to yourself, anyway?” she asked.  
  
“I’m not entirely certain,” Astrid said. She was looking in the mirror again, apparently watching Yasmeena work. “My best guess is that there was some protrusion or irregularity in the armour, and my shoulder rubbed against it when I moved. It can’t have been that sharp, though — it didn’t go through my sleeve at all.”  
  
“Probably just as well,” Yasmeena said, glancing up to narrow her eyes at Astrid in the mirror. “Otherwise you’d have ended up bleeding all over the place and Kieran would probably have had a heart attack.”  
  
Astrid just frowned and didn’t say anything. Yasmeena went back to work, carefully applying a dressing to the frankly rather awkwardly positioned abrasion. A few moments later, Astrid belatedly replied.  
  
“You… like Dr Bailey, don’t you.”  
  
“Yes. He’s a good friend,” Yasmeena agreed, wondering why Astrid wasn’t calling Kieran by his first name. For that matter, she didn’t seem to use anyone’s name if she could help it. Idly, she wondered if Psych would be pissed off with her if she asked Astrid why that was. Not that they were watching and listening right now, or at least they weren’t supposed to be. Bathrooms, bedrooms and places of worship were off limits to their panopticonic overseers, or at least that was what Kimberly had said. Something something privacy laws, something something.  
  
Yasmeena bet there were exceptions, though. There always were. And ‘as necessary to ensure the safety of all concerned’ seemed like an awfully big grey area to her.  
  
Still, if Kimberly was listening in right now, she apparently didn’t feel the need to whisper in Yasmeena’s ear, so maybe…  
  
But Astrid spoke again, and the moment was gone.  
  
“But he’s your… your boss.” She sounded completely confused.  
  
“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends,” Yasmeena said.  
  
(Not everyone felt the same way, of course. Yasmeena hadn’t used to, but then her last boss has been a condescending prick who saw his staff as mindless automatons he needed to micro-manage within an inch of their lives.)  
  
(Her one regret about leaving her previous group to join ETA, was that she hadn’t been able to tell Professor Stick-Up-His-Ass — petty, yes, but oh so appropriate — exactly what she thought of him. She might have given into the temptation if she’d been moving to another institution, but all she’d done was move down a couple of floors and along the corridor a little way. Anyway, even if she had gone somewhere else, telling off someone with his clout and willingness to use it would have been career suicide. Yasmeena might generally have had no particular qualms about speaking her mind, but she wasn’t stupid. So she’d gritted her teeth and merely told her former group head that she felt ETA was a better fit for her interests and aptitudes. Which was certainly true enough as far as it went. It just wasn’t the whole of it.)  
  
(At the time, the Professor-tron-9000 — sometimes, giving him childish nicknames in her head had been the only way she’d found the will to keep going — hadn’t seemed to care one way or the other about her leaving. Shortly afterwards, though, she’d heard through the grapevine — that was to say, some of her old colleagues — that he’d complained about Kieran ‘poaching’ his staff through ‘nefarious means.’ Which wasn’t entirely inaccurate, she supposed. At least not as long as you considered treating someone like an actual human being to be some sort of foul black sorcery.)  
  
“Doesn’t it make things awkward, though?” Astrid asked.  
  
“Not at all,” Yasmeena said. “I think it actually helps, in many ways. But I guess we’re a fairly tight-knit group.”  
  
“I… see.”  
  
Yasmeena somehow doubted that was true. But she had neither the time nor the inclination to explain any further.  
  
“All done,” she pronounced, eyeing her handiwork critically. “Although I’m not sure how well the dressing’s going to stay on if you do anything strenuous.” She gave Astrid a wry smile. “You couldn’t have abraded yourself somewhere easier to dress?”  
  
“I’ll try to make sure any further injuries I acquire are located more conveniently for first aid purposes,” Astrid said dryly, surprising Yasmeena a little.  
  
“Good,” she said, nodding. “Although it would be better if you didn’t injure yourself at all,” she said sternly.  
  
“I wasn’t particularly planning on it,” Astrid said quietly.  
  
She put on her shirt. Or whatever the hell the top half of a set of fatigues was called. Nick would be able to tell her, if she was actually bothered enough about it to remember to ask him. She wasn’t entirely sure she cared that much, though. “Anyway,” she said. “Let’s get back to the break room. Kieran will want to fuss over you a little before we put you back to work.”  
  
The look Astrid gave her was priceless.  
  
“Is… that a joke?” she asked, sounding like she really wished it was.  
  
Yasmeena’s answering grin wasn’t quite a smirk, but it was probably close.  
  
“I guess you’ll find out.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Yasmeena watched with some amusement as both Kieran and Vincent descended on Astrid, who stoically endured the pair of them fussing over her. Well, she stoically endured Kieran’s concern, at any rate. Her patience for Vincent seemed to be a rather more limited quantity, but Yasmeena could certainly understand that.  
  
“What’s the verdict?” Kieran asked Yasmeena, as Astrid gave Vincent a distinctly sharp-edged:  
  
“Really. I’m fine.”  
  
“Nothing too serious,” Yasmeena said, matter-of-factly. Astrid shot her a grateful look, but that turned to an expression of indignant betrayal when she added: “A couple of bruises here and there, a strained back muscle and a nasty abrasion on her shoulder.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say it’s particularly nasty,” Astrid muttered, sounding a little irritated.  
  
Yasmeena rolled her eyes, wondering if Astrid had seriously expected her not to say anything to Kieran. Yes, she didn’t want him to get overly worried, but she was hardly going to lie, even by omission. And this was something he needed to know.  
  
Even if he would probably overreact.  
  
“And I suppose you’re an expert, are you?” she sniffed, giving Astrid a distinctly unimpressed look.  
  
Belatedly, Yasmeena half-expected Kimberly to berate her for provoking the cape, but her earbud remained silent. She was peripherally aware of Vincent giving her a slightly horrified look, but given his track record so far, his judgement was hardly the most reliable as far as Astrid’s reactions were concerned.  
  
“I’ve had first aid training,” Astrid replied stiffly. She started to say something else, but then broke off and shook her head. To Yasmeena’s surprise, she actually smiled, wry though it was. “Déjà vu,” she muttered, sounding amused.  
  
Still nothing from Psych. Maybe they were also curious about that remark.  
  
“Oh?” Yasmeena asked, a little cautiously.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “Just remembering a conversation I had with Panacea,” she said. She quirked an eyebrow at Yasmeena. “She said something similar, but she was rather more… scathing about it.”  
  
“Who’s Panacea?” Vincent asked curiously.  
  
“An independent hero in Brockton Bay,” Nick piped up.  
  
“A healer,” Yasmeena said absently, her thoughts drifting elsewhere despite her best efforts to stay focused on the here and now.  
  
(As soon as her mom had been diagnosed, Yasmeena had started looking at options. She was an engineer: given a problem, her mind naturally turned towards possible solutions. Given where she worked, it was hardly a surprise that her list of possibilities included capes.)  
  
(There were a few parahumans known to have healing powers, and a smaller number of medical-specialised tinkers, although the likes of Bonesaw and Omnia had made some of the latter group a little reluctant to admit to their area of interest. She’d started researching all the individuals in question, trying to figure out if their powers would be able to help her mom. She wasn’t stupid: she knew that they undoubtedly received many such requests for healing. She knew they couldn’t say yes to every single one of them, if they even took requests at all. And she honestly didn’t have the first clue how she would go about persuading them to grant her request in particular. But there was no point even worrying about whether or not they would help until she first established that they could.)  
  
(Panacea had initially looked like one of the more promising prospects — not too far away, and with a track record of using her powers for the benefit of the general public. Unfortunately, it turned out that she couldn’t fix brains. So Yasmeena had pushed aside her bitter disappointment as best as she could and gone back to her list. It was still very much a work in progress.)  
  
“This cape was more scathing than Yas?” Curtis asked, with exaggerated disbelief. “What, is that part of her power or something?”  
  
“I think it might be,” Astrid murmured.  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Curtis,” Yasmeena said dryly, gladly seizing the opportunity to drag herself out of her thoughts. She looked at Astrid, curiosity driving her to ask: “Do I want to know how you managed to provoke Panacea into being scathing at you?”  
  
Astrid sighed, her amusement — and her smile — fading away. She seemed tired all of a sudden. “I was a little banged up,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Panacea offered to heal me. I think she was offended when I turned her down.”  
  
“Why would you turn down an offer of healing if you were hurt?” Vincent burst out, looking horrified.  
  
“It wasn’t…” Astrid broke off and sighed again. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” she said simply. “But when I told her that…” She pulled a face. “Cue the sarcastic remarks about who, exactly, was the medical expert there.” She shrugged and grinned once more, although her heart didn’t really seem to be in it. “It was easier just to let her fix me than listen to more of her b-, uh, her snark.”  
  
Yasmeena was pretty sure the word Astrid didn’t finish was ‘bitchiness,’ and was amused that she’d felt the need to censor that.  
  
“I think it’s time to end this conversation,” Kimberly said firmly. “Kieran, please continue with the evaluation.”  
  
Kieran smiled at Astrid. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay now,” he said, and then grimaced a little. “More or less, anyway. Do you want anything before we continue?”  
  
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Astrid said politely, to Yasmeena’s complete lack of surprise.  
  
“Yasmeena?” he said.  
  
“Just let me finish my coffee, and I’ll join you down there in a few moments,” she replied, crossing the room to retrieve the half-finished cup she’d left to go and minister to her reluctant patient.  
  
Kieran nodded. “Okay,” he said cheerfully.  
  
Yasmeena wasn’t sure if he didn’t notice the odd look Astrid was giving the pair of them, or had simply decided not to mention it. She suspected it was probably the latter, and she elected to follow his lead. She watched as he and Astrid disappeared from view, amused but not surprised to notice that she was by no means the only one. And by the utterly baffled expression on Vincent’s face.  
  
“You know, she really doesn’t like being fussed over,” Yasmeena couldn’t help telling him, once she was sure that Astrid and Kieran were out of earshot.  
  
“I had noticed that,” he said, smiling in a kind of self-deprecating way that was probably supposed to be charming. “Although I’m not entirely sure why.”  
  
“Maybe she finds it patronising,” Yasmeena murmured, pretending she didn’t see the frown Melanie turned her way.  
  
Honestly, that was far from the worst thing she could have said. Anyway, she wasn’t calling him patronising, even though he was. All she was saying was that Astrid found it patronising. That was a totally different thing.  
  
“Well, it looks like one question is answered, at least,” Curtis said, probably trying to play peacemaker. His expression turned speculative. “Even if it does raise others.”  
  
“Like how she got hurt,” Nick murmured.  
  
“And how bad it really was,” Yasmeena said.  
  
Vincent gave her a disturbed look. “She said she was a little banged up,” he said. “That doesn’t sound too serious to me.”  
  
Yasmeena rolled her eyes. “Because there’s no way someone who doesn’t like to be fussed over would possibly understate the severity of any injuries she may have suffered in front of people who are likely to make a fuss,” she said, only a little scathingly. She drained the rest of her coffee as he stared at her, knowing and not caring that it was ridiculously petty of her to take pleasure in rendering him speechless. Melanie gave her a disappointed look. Or maybe Yasmeena was just projecting. “Anyway,” she said briskly. “I’d better get going. Wouldn’t want to hold up the rest of the evaluation…”  
  
Waving in response to the chorus of goodbyes — and, surprisingly, a ‘good luck’ from Eliot — she made her way downstairs, her mind already on the upcoming tests.  
  
She was actually looking forward to this.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“This next set of tests wasn’t actually part of the original plan,” Kieran was explaining to Astrid, as Yasmeena joined the two of them on the testing floor. “But I watched some of your sensory tests in Medical earlier, and that gave me some ideas.”  
  
“Which we then had to scramble turn into something workable,” Yasmeena said, giving him a fond smile.  
  
“And you all did an excellent job of it,” Kieran said, smiling back at her.  
  
“Well, it helped that we could repurpose some equipment from a previous project,” she said, although she was pleased at the praise.  
  
Astrid had that strange look on her face again, briefly, as she looked at the pair of them, but then it was replaced by an attentive, interested expression.  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s the purpose of these particular tests?” she asked.  
  
Yasmeena let Kieran field that one, going to double-check the set-up. She’d checked and rechecked it earlier, of course, but it never hurt to be sure.  
  
“Of course you can ask,” Kieran said, smiling. “Right. So. You know how heat is conducted through solids? Along the bonds. If you can control those, then in theory you can control the way heat flows through an object. Useful if, for instance, you want to wear metal against your skin without freezing in winter or burning in summer. It’s similar for sound. If you’ve got metal wrapped around your head and someone clocks you with a pipe, or whatever, you could be deafened. But if you can dampen sound transmission, you can protect yourself against that. There are some other things you might be able to affect as well, but it basically comes down to manipulating bond movement, which we already know you can do. This is just a slightly different application. Make sense?”  
  
“Yes,” Astrid said, after a moment, sounding thoughtful. “It sounds like a really useful ability to have.” She smiled, looking positively enthusiastic. “What do you need me to do?”  
  
“First of all, we need to verify that the set up we’ve come up with will work for what we have in mind,” he said. “How’s it looking, Yas?”  
  
The equipment for this test was actually relatively straightforward, as such things went. There was a rectangular slab of metal embedded in rubber so that only the upper surface was exposed. That surface was studded with sensors and other devices. The rubber mount extended out a little way from one of the narrower edges, forming a mat large enough that someone could rest their whole hand on it if they wanted. A series of wires were strung between the metal slab and a control panel, which Yasmeena was currently using to perform a system check. She noted with satisfaction that there were green lights across the board.  
  
 _Not bad for a patch job,_ she thought.  
  
“Looks good from this end,” was what she said aloud.  
  
“Great!” he replied. “Now, Astrid, will you please touch the rubber casing and tell me if you can sense the metal slab?”  
  
She nodded and rested her fingertips on the rubber mat. A moment later, she nodded. “Yes,” she said softly. “And the sensors, and the wires, and the control panel.”  
  
Not for the first time, Yasmeena wondered what it felt like to receive and process that kind of information. From what Kieran had said, it sounded like there was some kind of repurposing of existing sensory pathways going on. Yasmeena might not be a neurologist, or any kind of biologist, but that made perfect sense to her. Why create something entirely new when you had something you could kit bash into doing the job? There was no sense reinventing the wheel, after all.  
  
But, of course, merely knowing that didn’t really answer the question of how it felt. Maybe she could ask Astrid if she’d be willing to explain. Now wasn’t really the time, though. Maybe later.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said. “For these tests, I would like you to affect only the metal slab. Not the rubber or any other part of the device. Do you think you can do that?”  
  
She frowned minutely. “Yes, I believe so.”  
  
“Good,” Kieran said, sounding relieved. That had been one of their concerns. If Astrid’s power was ‘all or nothing,’ rather than being selective, it might have made getting any kind of hard data out of this set up a little difficult. “Let’s just make absolutely sure of that, though. Can you make the metal move just a tiny bit, and just for a moment?”  
  
“Ping it with my power, you mean?” Astrid asked. “Yes, I can do that.”  
  
A few moments passed. Nothing apparently happened.  
  
“Is there a problem?” Kieran asked.  
  
Astrid frowned. “I did what you asked,” she said, a little uncertainly. “Do you need me to do it again?”  
  
“Yes please,” Kieran said. “But can you step it up a notch? We need it to register on the sensors.”  
  
“Okay,” she said quietly. This time, the tremor sensors on the metal registered a brief pulse of movement, there and gone in moments. There was nothing from the sensors on the rubber, the wires or the control panel.  
  
Yasmeena gave Kieran a thumbs up.  
  
“Good,” he said. “Now please do it three times in succession, exactly like that.”  
  
Astrid gave him a slightly puzzled look, but she did as he asked. At least, Yasmeena assumed she did. Certainly, the tremor sensors on the metal registered three pulses, one after the other. The rest of the tremor sensors had nothing.  
  
“Definitely not a fluke,” Yasmeena said. Not that she’d really thought it was, but it was nice to be sure.  
  
“Great!” Kieran said. “Now we’ve confirmed that you can selectively manipulate the metal, we can properly begin the tests. We’re going to start with sound.”  
  
“That’s my cue,” Yasmeena muttered, initiating the first sequence.  
  
“Can you sense that, Astrid?” Kieran asked.  
  
“Yes,” she said, her gaze distant. “It’s a steady tone. I’m afraid I don’t know which note it corresponds to.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Kieran said, looking amused. “The fact that you can sense it is the important thing. I’d like you to try to damp down that vibration now. Silence it completely if you can, but if you can’t, just reduce it as much as you’re able. Okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Yasmeena watched the sensor readouts, mentally crossing her fingers on Astrid’s behalf. Sure, this wasn’t a pass or fail kind of thing, but she thought she was starting to get a handle on Astrid now, at least in some respects. If she was right, the kid would be devastated if she couldn’t manage to do absolutely everything that was asked of her, no matter how unlikely the odds of success.  
  
Just like a younger Yasmeena would have been.  
  
So, for Astrid’s sake, Yasmeena hoped she succeeded.  
  
At first, the sensor readouts remained unchanged. But then they started to wobble, the vibrations decreasing and then increasing again. Astrid was clearly doing something…  
  
More time passed. Yasmeena found that she was holding her breath. She made herself breathe normally, feeling a little cross at her overreaction. Honestly, there was no need to get so worked up. This was hardly a life and death situation. Except Astrid obviously wanted so very badly to do well — she wanted it enough to risk serious injury on the last test — and Yasmeena knew exactly how that felt.  
  
(She found herself remembering a time in college when she’d gone without sleep for three days — well, more like two and a half, she supposed — so she could perfect a project that had likely already been good enough to earn her an A grade. But she’d known she could do better, and so she’d run herself ragged proving it.)  
  
“Almost got it,” Astrid murmured, the words barely audible. Her frown deepened, and deepened some more, and then suddenly her face lit up. “There,” she breathed. Sure enough, the tone generator was running, but the metal was silent and still.  
  
“Excellent!” Kieran said.  
  
Astrid smiled at him, seeming to stand a little straighter. “Thank you,” she said.  
  
Yasmeena couldn’t help smiling with her.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said. “For completeness’ sake, let’s see if you can do the opposite. Can you amplify the sound?”  
  
The answer, it seemed, was yes.  
  
“Ow,” Yasmeena said, wincing, as the tone seemed to go right through her head.  
  
The sound immediately cut out.  
  
“Sorry,” Astrid said, her eyes a little wide. “I didn’t realise… Are you alright?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Yasmeena said airily. “It just caught me by surprise, that’s all.” She looked at the readouts and arched an eyebrow. “Huh. Interesting.”  
  
“What?” Kieran asked.  
  
Yasmeena glanced at Astrid. “You changed the frequency as well as the amplitude.” She grinned. “Probably explains why it felt like it was drilling through my teeth. Just like nails on a chalkboard.”  
  
“Oh,” Astrid said, looking uneasy. “I see.”  
  
“Did you do that on purpose?” Kieran asked, wandering over to peer over Yasmeena’s shoulder at the screen.  
  
Astrid went still, her expression smoothing into expressionlessness. “Not… No, not really. I was just trying to amplify the vibration.” She looked distinctly displeased. “Apparently I didn’t manage to match the frequency well enough.” A slightly uncertain note entered her voice as she added: “I didn’t mean to cause either of you any discomfort.”  
  
“I couldn’t even hear it,” Kieran said, which explained why he hadn’t yelped or clutched his ears, or anything of the sort. “Could you?”  
  
“Yes,” Astrid said. Yasmeena wondered idly if she’d also found it unpleasant. She certainly hadn’t reacted visibly.  
  
“Maybe it’s an age thing,” Kieran mused. “I seem to remember reading something about ability to hear high-pitched sounds decreasing with age.” He grinned at Yasmeena. “I guess that means you have the ears of a teenager.”  
  
“Yay me,” she muttered.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said. “So, you can dampen sound and you can create it. I think pitch matching and amplifying a signal is something that’s going to take practice. But I’m curious to see if you can create a sound without a signal to base it off.”  
  
“I can try,” Astrid said, thoughtfully.  
  
Kieran paused a moment — hesitated, really, Yasmeena realised — and then said, gently: “If you can’t manage it, don’t worry. We’ll just move onto something else.”  
  
“Okay,” Astrid said, her expression opaque.  
  
Yasmeena turned off the tone generator. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said. She wasn’t sure if this was something Astrid would be able to do. Everything she’d done so far pointed towards yes, but powers were governed by their own ineffable logic. The only way they’d know for sure was if… “Ow!” Yasmeena cried, glowering at Astrid as she clutched her ears. “That was actually worse than last time!”  
  
“Sorry,” Astrid said, as the godawful noise stopped. “I couldn’t hold the note.” She gave Yasmeena a wry smile. “If it’s any consolation, I was sensing it with my power as well as hearing it with my ears, so I guess I got a double dose.”  
  
“Well, that is some consolation I suppose,” Yasmeena drawled. “Just as long as I wasn’t the only one suffering.”  
  
“I guess I should be thankful that I’m old,” Kieran said, chuckling. “But I think we can count that as a success.”  
  
“I need to improve my control, though,” Astrid said, and she was back to sounding quiet and uncertain again.  
  
Yasmeena was starting to think that Astrid was even more of a self-critical perfectionist than Yasmeena had been at that age. Maybe she should say something; try to tell her than the sun wouldn’t fall from the sky if she didn’t aim to go above and beyond every single time.  
  
Maybe.  
  
But where would she even start?  
  
And would Astrid even listen anyway?  Yasmeena hadn't, when she was younger and people had tried to tell her that very same thing.  
  
Anyway, if she was entirely honest, she still did drive herself harder than she needed to sometimes, and she didn’t see that changing anytime soon. Or ever.  
  
So maybe she shouldn’t say anything after all.  
  
“I’m sure that’ll come with practice,” Kieran assured Astrid. “You’ve shown that you can do it, and that’s the important thing. The rest of it is just about putting in the work.”  
  
“I’m used to working hard,” Astrid said quietly, and she sounded awfully somber.  
  
Yasmeena gave Astrid a wry smile. “Hey, I just thought of something. Get a few more pieces of metal in different sizes and shapes, and I guess you can use your power to make music.”  
  
Astrid gave her the strangest look. “I’m really not sure that’s going to be very useful.”  
  
“No, but it might be fun, though,” Yasmeena said. “Anyway, it’s one way to practice your control.”  
  
“I guess,” Astrid said, dubiously.  
  
“I suppose it would be kind of like a glass harp, only with metal.” Kieran said, his thoughts clearly elsewhere right now. He pursed his lips. “Although, thinking about it, I suppose there’s nothing stopping you using glass…”  
  
“What’s a glass harp?” Yasmeena asked.  
  
“It’s where you fill glasses with different levels of water so they make different notes when you rub your finger along the rims,” Astrid said.  
  
“I didn’t know that had a name,” Yasmeena murmured. She studied Astrid, who had the oddest look on her face. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Nothing, really,” she said, her voice tight. “I was just thinking… I really don’t want to do anything like this with glass.”  
  
“Why not?” Kieran asked, sounding puzzled, but Yasmeena had already put glass and music and capes together and come to a conclusion.  
  
“Shatterbird,” she said.  
  
Generally, she tried not to pay attention to the likes of the Slaughterhouse Nine — aside from keeping an eye out for reported sightings, of course, as was sensible — but she’d picked up a few things just by cultural osmosis. It was one of the things about working in this place: capes were always a popular topic of conversation.  
  
“Exactly,” Astrid said, grimly. “The last thing I want is to be associated with that murderous bitch.”  
  
“I’m sure that wouldn’t happen,” Kieran said. He smiled. “You’re one of the heroes.”  
  
That didn’t actually seem to reassure Astrid all that much, Yasmeena noted.  
  
“Let’s move on,” Kieran said. “I was thinking we could try temperature next…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“So, that’s a definite yes on affecting temperature,” Kieran said, raising his eyebrows as he studied the frost-covered piece of metal.  
  
“Control needs a little work, though,” Yasmeena commented, smiling to show that she didn’t mean it maliciously.  
  
She was surprised at the way Astrid tensed, anxiety flickering in her eyes.  
  
“I know,” Astrid said, sounding unhappy. She turned to Kieran. “I can do better,” she told him earnestly.   
  
Yasmeena studied her, a little puzzled by her sudden agitation. Kieran didn’t look confused, though. He just looked a little sad, briefly, before banishing the expression to smile at Astrid.  
  
“I’m sure you can,” he told her, his tone reassuring. “But I think this was a pretty good first attempt.” His smile broadened. “I bet you’re glad you weren’t touching the metal itself, though. We wouldn’t want you get frostbite as well as burns.”  
  
“I’m not sure these really count as burns,” Astrid muttered, glancing down at her fingers. _Because of course she’d say that,_ Yasmeena thought, narrowly resisting the urge to roll her eyes and say something sarcastic. “But yes,” she continued, meeting Kieran’s gaze once more. “I’m definitely in favour of not freezing my fingers.”  
  
“Or burning them again, presumably,” Kieran said. “Since I’m pretty sure you can figure out what we’d like you to try now.”  
  
“Heating the metal,” Astrid said.  
  
“Give the girl a prize,” Yasmeena couldn’t help murmuring, pleased when Astrid shot an irritated glance her way. Irritation was certainly better than that inexplicable anxiety. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said sweetly, turning her attention to the metal. The frost melted, and then started to steam, the temperature continuing to climb. She started to fear for the sensors.  
  
“I think that’s enough,” Kieran said, apparently thinking the same thing. “Astrid, can you please try to return the metal to room temperature?”  
  
“I’ll try,” she said, sounding uncertainly. “It might take me a couple of minutes, though. I have to be careful not to go too far.”  
  
“Take your time,” he said.  
  
Yasmeena shook her head. “Your power really does make the laws of thermodynamics curl up and cry,” she said.  
  
“Don’t they all?” Astrid replied. “I mean, warping space, stopping time, firing lasers… As far as I can tell, mine’s one of the tamer ones with regards to kicking the laws of physics to the curb. I can’t create matter from thin air, I can only use existing materials. And what I can do with them is limited by their properties.” She frowned. “Although those limits do sometimes seem to be a little… arbitrary.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Yasmeena asked, fascinated.  
  
“I can make metal bonds slide and stretch, shifting them around without having to break them. That’s why metal’s easy to move. Something with a tight crystal lattice, though, or strong covalent bonds: that’s harder. I have to break and reform bonds to move the molecules around, and it’s tricky. Unless I’m really slow and careful, the structure just collapses to dust. A lot of the time, that happens regardless of how careful I am.” A look of frustration crossed her face. “It’s really annoying.”  
  
“I can imagine,” said Yasmeena. “But that sounds fairly straightforward.”  
  
“That’s what I thought,” Astrid said. “But then there’s glass. And various hydrocarbon-based polymers. Moving those around is almost as easy as metal, but I don’t know why. I mean, glass is **brittle**. It just doesn’t make sense.”  
  
The sheer disgust in her voice was almost comical. Yasmeena pressed her lips together, trying not to let her amusement escape. Somehow, she didn’t think Astrid would be impressed.  
  
“Actually,” Kieran said, thoughtfully. “I have some ideas about that. I think what you might be doing is forcing a phase change in the material, putting it into a state where it’s easier to manipulate. Normally, that requires heat but…” He grinned. “Like Yas said, your power seems to be able to laugh at little things like energy requirements. But we’ll figure it out, don’t worry.”  
  
“I hope so,” Astrid said. “Anyway, I think I’ve finished adjusting the temperature of the metal.”  
  
Yasmeena checked the relevant readout. “Looks good,” she said, nodding in approval.  
  
“I agree,” Kieran said, smiling broadly. “Well done.”  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said quietly, seeming pleased. “What now?”  
  
“Now,” Kieran said. “We’re going to how well you get on with electricity…”


	7. Chapter 7

**_Kimberly_ **

 

“So,” Kimberly said, because this next topic was going to need a little bit of a lead-in. “I’d like to switch gears a little if that’s okay.”  
  
“Of course, Ma’am,” Astrid said, frowning with what looked like puzzlement.  
  
She did that every time Kimberly asked if something was alright with her, or if she minded… whatever it was. Apparently, she wasn’t used to authority figures asking her things, rather than simply telling her.  
  
“Let’s talk about fear,” she said. She let the statement hang there for a moment as Astrid watched her cautiously. The girl had gone very still.  
  
“I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that she’s really stressed right now,” Andrew murmured, a little redundantly. He was right, she didn’t precisely need the heads up. Still, no matter how redundant it seemed, the protocol was for the observer to alert the interviewer regarding any significant change to the sensor readouts. That way, there was less chance of a misstep resulting from the fact that what was obvious to one person, wasn’t necessarily so to another. “Still nothing on the tremor sensors, though.”  
  
“Ma’am?” Astrid said warily, when Kimberly didn’t say anything further. Perhaps she wasn’t quite so inured to silence after all.  
  
“What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you think of fear?” Kimberly asked, when it was clear that Astrid wasn’t going to volunteer her thoughts without being prompted.  
  
“Weakness, Ma’am,” she replied, after a short pause.  
  
Now, did she mean that she thought fear was weakness, or that she was afraid of being weak? Neither were precisely uncommon sentiments, and they certainly weren’t mutually exclusive.  
  
“Oh?” Kimberly said, making sure to show nothing more than polite curiosity.  
  
Astrid scrutinised her for a few moments. “I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re asking, Ma’am,” she said.  
  
Or, she was reluctant to expand further on her thoughts without having an idea of what it was that Kimberly wanted to hear.  
  
Or maybe she was simply uncomfortable with the subject. That, again, would hardly be unusual. Kimberly considered for a moment, and decided that there was little to be gained by pursuing this topic much further. There was, however, one more question she wanted to pose before moving on.  
  
“What are you most afraid of?” she asked.  
  
In her experience, very few people were actually willing to answer that question, and few of those that did so gave complete and honest responses. That didn’t, however, mean that it wasn’t a useful question to ask.  
  
“Big pulse spike there,” Andrew said. “Still nothing on the tremor sensors, though.”  
  
Those sensors, Kimberly couldn’t help thinking, were proving to be less than useful. It was clear that Astrid did sometimes use her power when under particular stress; she just seemed to confine it to the metal she wore around her arms. But it wasn’t always obvious when that was happening. Andrew certainly hadn’t said anything, which meant if she was manipulating the metal right now, she wasn’t doing so in a way that was visible to any of the cameras. And, unfortunately, Kimberly couldn’t see it for herself, not from this angle.  
  
With hindsight, perhaps they could have figured this out ahead of time. Yes, it wasn’t Northeast’s policy to search the incoming parahumans, but they could have gotten around that by asking the sensor technicians if she’d been carrying anything unusual. If they’d been informed that she was wearing metal wrapped around her forearms, then they might have put two and two together with the report of how she’d first demonstrated her power to the Brockton Bay PRT. At that point, they could have come up with a pretext to ask her to divest herself of it.  
  
But they hadn’t done any of that.  
  
_Hindsight is twenty-twenty,_ Kimberly mused.  
  
Still, they knew now, which meant they could plan accordingly.  
  
Astrid still hadn’t responded to the question, the silence stretching for longer than was usual with her, even when she considered her words carefully. Kimberly was just starting to wonder if she should prompt her, when she drew breath to speak.  
  
“You said…” she began cautiously, watching Kimberly closely. “You said that it would be acceptable if I didn’t answer all of your questions. Is that correct, Ma’am?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Kimberly said gently. “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with sharing. You don’t even need to tell me why you don’t want to answer.”  
  
“Will there be any consequences for not answering?” she asked quietly.  
  
_Should I ask what she meant by that?_  
  
She rejected the thought almost as soon as it formed. The answer wouldn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know, and she didn’t want to put Astrid under any more pressure right now. Answering a question with a question was a very useful technique, to be sure, but there was a time for that sort of thing, and this wasn’t it. Best to simply give a straightforward response.  
  
“No, Astrid,” she said. “As I said before, you’re not going to be punished for anything you tell me here. That includes telling me you’d rather not talk about something.”  
  
“Then I’d prefer not to answer the question, Ma’am,” Astrid said, eyeing Kimberly warily.  
  
“Alright,” Kimberly said, and smiled. “Let’s move onto something else.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Yasmeena_ **

 

“No,” Astrid said softly. She drew in on herself slightly, not hunching or slumping, but somehow contriving to see almost… small. “It doesn’t feel any different. I’m sorry.”  
  
“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” Kieran said gently. His brows drew together fractionally even as he stretched his lips in a smile. He shifted a little, as if he was going to move towards her. Yasmeena readied herself to nudge him if necessary, but he settled again, remaining where he was. “If your power doesn’t work that way,” he continued. “Then it doesn’t work that way. I did say I’d be shocked if you could manage everything we asked of you.”  
  
He absently snagged Yasmeena’s pen from the bench and started fiddling with it. She resigned herself to its loss, figuring it was better that Kieran kept his hands occupied in a way that wasn’t, say, reaching out to pat the distressed parahuman on the shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. Astrid’s gaze drifted briefly towards the motion of the pen dancing through his fingers before she snapped it back up again.  
  
“Maybe it might help if you stepped up the voltage a little more?” she said, her voice lilting up hopefully at the end as she stood up straight again. “Perhaps I just need a better idea of what to listen for.”  
  
Kieran glanced at Yasmeena, raising his eyebrows a little. She looked down at the board and nodded. They were still well within tolerance levels. She wasn’t entirely sure it would make a difference, mind you, but nor was she surprised when Kieran turned to Astrid and said:  
  
“Sure, we can give it a try.”  
  
Only someone who knew him as well as Yasmeena did would have heard the brittleness beneath his overly cheerful tone. That was the only reason she didn’t so much as roll her eyes as she made the necessary adjustments to the testing apparatus. If it was up to her, she would’ve called this already. She felt for Astrid; she did; if not as strongly as Kieran obviously did. But even she admitted that, sometimes, there was a point where you just had to give something up as a bad job. When it came to Astrid’s attempt to sense the electric current passing through the metal, that point had been and gone. But Kieran was the one calling the shots here, and he’d decided to indulge Astrid’s unwillingness to simply let it go.  
  
Hopefully, either this latest attempt would work — unlikely — or one more negative result would convince Astrid to move on of her own accord.  
  
Before Kieran had to put his foot down. Or she did.  
  
“Good to go whenever you are,” Yasmeena said briskly.  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said quietly, before turning her attention to the metal. Her gaze was distant, and the tiniest of frowns creased her forehead. The frown deepened as Yasmeena watched. A few moments passed. Yasmeena glanced at Kieran expectantly, but he remained silent. His attention was laser-focused on Astrid as if he could help her succeed just by willing it to happen.  
  
_Looks like it’s up to me, then…_  
  
“Anything?” she asked.  
  
Astrid sighed. “No,” she said, slumping a little. “I can’t sense it at all.” Kieran drew breath to speak, undoubtedly some words of reassurance. Astrid certainly looked like she could do with some. It seemed, however, that she hadn’t finished speaking. “Maybe if I made contact with the metal directly…” she mused, frowning.  
  
“Are you nuts?” Yasmeena burst out, not even caring that they weren’t supposed to sound ‘judgemental.’ “That’s live metal! You’ll get a shock.” She hurriedly cut the power, just in case Astrid went ahead and did it anyway. Instead, the fool girl was looking at Yasmeena like she was the weird one.  
  
“Only a minor shock,” she said, doing absolutely nothing to dispel the notion that her survival instincts must be nonexistent. “You said yourself that it wasn’t actually dangerous.”  
  
“And do you remember the other half of what I said when I was warning you not to touch the damn thing?” Yasmeena retorted, fixing Astrid with her most withering glare. “The current might not actually be enough to harm you, but it will certainly sting like a son of a bitch.”  
  
She was vaguely aware of Kieran looking at the two of them with a concerned frown. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but then his eyes widened and he abruptly closed it again. Maybe Psych had asked him to leave them to it.  
  
“Exactly,” Astrid said, like Yasmeena hadn’t just shot her down in flames. “It won’t harm me.”  
  
Déjà vu briefly stole Yasmeena’s voice.  
  
(‘I wasn’t in any real danger,’ a much younger Yasmeena had said, brimming with brittle self-confidence. ‘You worry way too much, Mom.’)  
  
(‘You might think you’re indestructible,’ her mom had railed in response, voice sharp-edged with what the distance of years finally allowed her to see was worry, not anger. ‘But you’re not. You could have been badly hurt.’ Mom had fixed her with a gaze that could have melted steel. ‘Foolish, stubborn girl! Why would you take such a risk? Are you trying to send me and your poor father to an early grave? I know we raised you better than this. Why can’t you be more like your cousin? She at least knows how to behave like a proper young lady. You wouldn’t catch Nadia horsing around and risking her neck, would you?’)  
  
(‘That’s because **Nadia** is a prissy little drip,’ Yasmeena had retorted, wishing a plague of boils on her practically perfect cousin. ‘All she cares about is looking pretty!’)  
  
(‘There’s nothing wrong with taking a little pride in your appearance,’ Mom had sniffed. ‘If you ask me…’)  
  
(‘I didn’t ask you! No one did!’)  
  
(Okay, maybe there had been some anger there. On both sides.)  
  
Was this whole thing some sort of karmic revenge for the trials she’d put her parents through in her youth? Not that she believed in karma, of course. Still, the thought was like a yappy little dog worrying at the edges of her thoughts.  
  
But nostalgia was more bitter than sweet these days and, anyway, she didn’t want to be distracted right now. Pushing the memories back down where they belonged, she narrowed her eyes and drew herself up to her full height.  
  
(If only Astrid didn’t have the advantage in that regard. But Yasmeena was used to being the shortest person in the room. She refused to let a piddling little height difference — or even quite a large height difference — put her off her stride.)  
  
“It. Will. Hurt,” Yasmeena said, speaking slowly and deliberately, as if to a small child.  
  
Astrid flushed, glowering, her hands twitching minutely. “I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she said stiffly.  
  
“You don’t…” Yasmeena stared at her, briefly nonplussed, and then she squared her shoulders, fixing Astrid with the look she reserved for students who had the gall to ask for a second extension to their project. Or for researchers who decided that equipment booking procedures didn’t apply to them. “Alright,” she said, firmly. “Setting aside that particular piece of idiocy for the time being…”  
  
Was it wrong that the offended, angry expression on Astrid’s face made her lips try to twitch into a wry smirk? In Yasmeena’s peripheral vision, the readouts from the tremor sensors on the test apparatus showed a small, brief spike before Astrid snatched her hand away, turning to face Yasmeena square on. Her fingers flexed minutely again, but she kept her hands at her sides.  
  
“I’m **not** an idiot,” she damn near growled.  
  
“Then don’t say such ridiculous things!” Yasmeena shot back. “Like we’d actually let you hurt yourself. Again!”  
  
Astrid had the sheer, unmitigated gall to roll her eyes.  
  
“A minor shock hardly counts as hurting,” she said, with exaggerated patience.  
  
Yasmeena shook her head, momentarily speechless.  
  
‘Try to avoid being confrontational or challenging,’ Kimberly had told them all beforehand. ‘And it’s important to refrain from using judgemental or critical language.’ There had been more — much more — but it basically boiled down to: don’t upset or piss off the potentially volatile superpowered teenager.  
  
Good advice, undoubtedly, at least in general, but Yasmeena was beyond caring about little details like being nice and sympathetic and pussyfooting around the things that needed to be said. Sometimes you had to get a little confrontational. They could reassure Astrid ‘till the cows came home, but reassurance clearly wasn’t cutting it. It was time to shake things up a bit; challenge some of her assumptions.  
  
Kind of hard to do that without, y’know, challenging her. Being confrontational. Sometimes that was just the only way to get through a person’s thick skull.  
  
And if Psych had a problem with that, they could speak up at any time. Yasmeena would even listen to them.  
  
Probably.  
  
But her earbud remained silent. And, although his face was pinched and creased and he was shifting in place as if he badly needed to pee, so did Kieran.  
  
Yasmeena took at as a sign that Kimberly was happy for her to play bad cop.  
  
Buoyed by the tacit support, she took a step towards Astrid, standing with her legs akimbo and her hands on her hips, lifting her chin to match the girl glare for glare.  
  
(All her life, people had told her that pose was aggressive and unladylike; that maybe she should try to be a little less confrontational. A little nicer. A little more feminine. And by ‘feminine,’ they apparently meant quiet and polite and passive.)  
  
(Those people could kindly go fuck themselves.)  
  
“As I was saying,” she said, acidly. “Leaving that particular idiocy for the time being: the world won’t stop spinning on its axis just because there’s actually something your ridiculously flexible power can’t do. I’ve told you, and Kieran’s told you, and even Vincent’s told you that this isn’t the kind of test you can fail. At what point is that going to actually sink in?”  
  
Astrid started to say something, but Yasmeena held up a finger, talking right over her.  
  
“That was a rhetorical question,” she said. “I’ll let you know when it’s time for you to speak.”  
  
Rather than glowering even more, or snapping out some angry retort about Yasmeena not being the boss of her — she had a counter-retort planned for that one, just in case — Astrid went as still and blank as a doll, all the animation, the anger, draining away in an instant. It was like a light went out inside her. Caught off guard by the abrupt shift, Yasmeena just stared, the words on her tongue slipping away before she could give them voice.  
  
While she floundered momentarily, Kimberly murmured in her ear. “Yasmeena, please try to avoid gesticulating. And don’t move any closer to Astrid. Otherwise, you may proceed.”  
  
Even with the rather more than merely tacit approval from Psych, Yasmeena found herself hesitating. But this was something that Astrid needed to hear, and Kimberly wouldn’t have told her to go ahead if she didn’t think it would be okay.  
  
Anyway, she might as well finish what she’d started.  
  
Still, when she proceeded, it wasn’t without a few misgivings.  
  
“As I was saying,” she continued, her voice a little less sharp-edged, but no less firm. “No one expects you to succeed at every single thing we ask you to try. I can understand wanting to do well, but you need to accept that some things just aren’t possible.” She almost pointed at Astrid, but managed to stop herself in time. In lieu of gesticulating — which she absolutely didn’t do — she settled for tilting her head quizzically. “What exactly is it that you think we’re doing here?” she asked, her question emerging somewhat softer than the demand she’d originally intended it to be. When Astrid didn’t respond right away, she flashed a wry grin and drawled: “That was your cue. **Now** you can speak.”  
  
“Evaluating my power, Ma’am,” Astrid said.  
  
“And what do you think that means?” she asked, ignoring the obvious sarcasm.  
  
Astrid looked blankly at her for a moment or two before answering. “Figuring out what it can do, Ma’am.”  
  
“And?”  
  
Again, Astrid paused before she spoke. “Working out ways in which I can use it more effectively, Ma’am?”  
  
“And what else?”  
  
“I’m… not certain, Ma’am.”  
  
Misgivings or not, Yasmeena only just managed not to fling her hands in the air in a gesture of frustration. “Yes, we want to figure out what you can do with your power,” she said. “But learning what you can’t do is just as important. So even if you actually did manage to do everything we asked of you, we’d just have to come up with more things to try until we actually found something that stymied you.”  
  
She surveyed Astrid, searching for a sign that any of this was getting through to her. It was damn near impossible to tell. Her gaze was fixed on Yasmeena’s as if glued there, though, so it looked like she was paying attention at least. That was something.  
  
Shrugging inwardly, Yasmeena pressed onwards, her tone only a little scathing as she added: “Despite what you seem to think, not being able to do something isn’t some kind of moral failing on your part.” (‘Hypocrite,’ sniffed Mom’s voice in her mind. She ignored it.) “The sooner you get off your high horse and realise that, the sooner we can go back to the testing. Do you understand?”  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said. Astrid’s tone remained level, her posture rigid, but her cheeks flushed pink, the faintest of wrinkles creasing her brow. Her gaze flicked to Kieran briefly before locking with Yasmeena’s again.  
  
Yasmeena sighed loudly, and rolled her eyes. “Okay, you can stop Ma’am-ing me now,” she said impatiently. “Especially if you’re going to lie right to my face.”  
  
Astrid twitched, the pink tinge to her cheeks blanching away. “I intended no offence,” she said, her voice wooden.  
  
“Yas knows that,” Kieran interjected, giving Astrid a reassuring smile before turning to Yasmeena and… and  glaring at her. Kieran! Glaring!  
  
Weird, but true. Kieran ‘Mr Happy’ Bailey was actually glaring.  
  
For real.  
  
She blinked at him for a moment. He inclined his head fractionally towards Astrid, his eyebrows raised. Astrid, she noted, was glancing between the two of them, looking briefly confused. But when she caught Yasmeena looking in her direction, she went right back to that statue-like facade.  
  
No, that was unfair to statues. Some of those could be very expressive indeed.  
  
(What was the name of that exhibition Melanie dragged her to a while back? Stilled Lives? Something like that. The thing had been billed as a tribute to the victims of Endbringer attacks. Not really Yasmeena’s bag but, well, Mel had looked at her with those huge blue eyes of hers… It had actually been pretty impressive, if a little creepy.)  
  
(And she totally hadn’t spent the whole time half-expecting to turn a corner and come face to face with a basilisk or a gorgon.)  
  
“I’m not offended,” Yasmeena told Astrid, belatedly, feeling like a little like the world was tilting around her. If Astrid hadn’t been sarcastic, then…  
  
“Yasmeena, please tell Astrid you’re not angry with her, and then proceed with what you were going to say.” Kimberly’s voice steadied her, banishing the confusion with the clarity of specific goals. Even if the second would have made her look askance at the woman if she’d actually been standing right here in front of her. She took a breath, deliberately making herself relax from her confrontational stance. It was harder than it should have been, but then uncertainty (and guilt) always made her tense right the hell up.  
  
“I’m not angry either,” she told Astrid. She took a deep breath — centring herself, hazy memories of college Tai chi classes informed her — and forced herself to focus. (Okay, maybe she never really had got the hang of Tai chi.) Clawing back the thread of her thoughts before it completely slipped her grasp, she reconsidered her approach. “I’m not saying this to be a hardass,” she said, her tone brisk, but not — she thought — overly harsh. “I just want you to understand. Not being able to succeed at one of the tasks we give you isn’t failure, no matter what you seem to think. It’s all data, Astrid, and a negative result is still a result. The only failure state here would be not to try at all.” She smiled. “Somehow, I don’t think not trying hard enough is one of your problems.”  
  
Astrid frowned, and Yasmeena felt a tension she hadn’t been aware of ease at the sight. Even that unhappily puzzled impression was better than the uncanny valley of that controlled null state. (Even Bob had more of an expression than that, and that was saying something.)  
  
“I am trying,” she said cautiously.  
  
“That you are.” The words were out of Yasmeena’s mouth before she could think better of them. She smiled to take the sting out of them, her tone dry as she added: “But so am I. At least that’s what they tell me.”  
  
“It’s true,” Kieran put in. “Yas is very trying sometimes.” He grinned, but his eyes still had that pinched, tense look that telegraphed his concern.  
  
She pulled a face at him, and turned back to Astrid, who was looking thoroughly, amusingly flummoxed by the exchange.  
  
“Anyway,” she said firmly. “The point I was trying to make is that you need to accept that there are things you won’t be able to do. I know you think of that as failing, even though you really shouldn’t. But you need to realise that we don’t see it that way. Can you understand that, at least?”  
  
Because Yasmeena might be a hypocrite in some respects, but she did recognise that there were some battles that simply couldn’t be won with the resources at hand, and she was in no way qualified to talk someone out of what seemed to be a pathological drive to succeed at all costs. She’d rather take an immediate, lesser victory, and leave the long game to people who were actually qualified for this shit.  
  
Assuming, of course, that she could even achieve that lesser victory.  
  
Astrid sighed, some of the tension in her muscles leaving her body along with the exhaled breath. “I guess so,” she said, and even that half-assed agreement felt like a hard-earned triumph. “I do see that it’s important to know what the limits of my power are. It’s just…” Her gaze flicked to the testing apparatus, to Kieran and back to Yasmeena again. “It’s frustrating to try so hard and to still feel like I’m failing.”  
  
“I understand that,” Yasmeena said. “But the only person here who thinks you’re failing here is you.”  
  
“Kieran, please reassure Astrid that she’s doing well.” Kimberly said, and it only now occurred to Yasmeena to wonder why she was hearing that. Hadn’t Kimberly talked to Kieran privately, earlier? For that matter, was he hearing everything that Kimberly said to her?  
  
Honestly, the Psych team were damn well ineffable, sometimes.  
  
Much of the time.  
  
Practically all the time.  
  
“Yas is right,” Kieran was saying. “You’re doing well, Astrid. You really have nothing to worry about. All we ask of you is that you try your best, and I have absolutely no complaints on that score.” He leaned in a little, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I’m not supposed to say this, but you’re being a hell of a lot more cooperative than some of the people we test here. And it is a genuine pleasure to work with someone who actually shows an interest in the procedure.”  
  
Astrid visibly stood up straighter. A moment later, her features relaxed into a small, but genuine-seeming smile.  
  
“Thank you, S-, ah, Kieran,” she said. She shook her head, her smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. “Sorry. Habit.”  
  
“I didn’t think the PRT were particularly strict about titles,” Yasmeena murmured, eyebrows raised quizzically.  
  
“They’re not,” Astrid said, flatly. “Apparently.”  
  
“Please don’t ask about that,” Kimberly said swiftly, and Yasmeena tried not to hunch like a scolded child. Or glare. (Not that glaring at a disembodied voice would have been anything other than an exercise in futility, but it might have made her feel better.) “Yasmeena,” Kimberly continued. “Please ensure that Astrid knows it’s not acceptable for her to injure herself during the evaluation.”  
  
Unthinking, Yasmeena opened her mouth to argue with Kimberly, but Kieran caught her eye and she came to her senses. Never had she been more thankful that she didn’t blush.  
  
“Anyway,” she said. “We’ve gotten a little side-tracked, but there is one last thing I wanted to say regarding the foolishness that started all this off.”  
  
“I wasn’t being particularly foolish," Astrid muttered, her eyes flashing as she drew herself up to her full height.  
  
Yasmeena absolutely did not feel a ridiculous urge to go up on her tiptoes in response. Or to find a box to stand on. She did, however, have to make an effort to keep her face stern, rather than letting it relax into the wry grin that lurked just under the surface.  
  
(Okay, maybe it was foolish of her to be amused, but she really couldn’t help it. It was just… There was a cat that lived on her street; an obstreperous creature that always seemed to be offended by something or other. And the way it raised its hackles and glared… Right now, Astrid’s resemblance to the creature was kind of striking.)  
  
(Although she supposed she should be glad that Astrid’s temper seemed to involve far less in the way of clawing and biting. At least so far.)  
  
She raised one eyebrow. “Really,” she said, the word too flat to properly be considered a question. “You don’t think it’s foolish to deliberately risk injuring yourself just on the off-chance that it might improve your chances of doing something you don’t even know if you can do?”  
  
“No,” Astrid said.  
  
The matter-of-fact way she said it that had Yasmeena exchanging a glance with Kieran. He tilted his head a little, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly, asking without words if she wanted to pass this baton to him. Just as minutely, she shook her head. She’d started this; she would finish it. Kieran could do any necessary soothing of ruffled feathers afterwards. He was good at that.  
  
Considering and rejecting a number of possible responses in the time it took her to draw breath, she decided to stick to something simple.  
  
“Well, think about this, then,” she said sternly. “You getting injured counts as a failure for us. You think the powers that be are going to trust us with another cape evaluation if we let one of them — a minor, no less — get hurt on our watch? You’ve injured yourself once already. Twice if you count burning your fingertips. I can understand you not giving a fig about me, but do you really want Kieran to get in trouble?”  
  
“What?” Astrid stared at Yasmeena for a moment, her eyes like dinner plates, before turning to Kieran. “Is that true?” she asked. “Would you really get in trouble if I damaged myself? Even if it wasn’t serious?”  
  
“I don’t know about trouble, per se,” he said. “But there’ll certainly be questions.” He smiled. “That aside, though, there’s also the fact that we’d really rather you didn’t end up hurt.”  
  
“Yeah, that too,” Yasmeena muttered.  
  
Unexpectedly, Astrid smiled. “I’m touched by your concern,” she drawled.  
  
“Hey, Kieran’s the one who does the touchy-feely stuff,” Yasmeena said, flapping a hand in his direction as she grinned back at Astrid. “If it’s concern you want, look at him, not me.”  
  
“Duly noted,” Astrid said softly. She glanced at the testing apparatus and sighed, slumping briefly before straightening her back and lifting her chin. “So, it looks like my power doesn’t let me sense electricity. What do you want me to try next?”  
  
“Magnetism,” Kieran said, back to his usual cheerfulness. “Specifically, I’d like to see if you can magnetise and demagnetise iron. I know electricity was a bust, but powers can be quixotic and you definitely seem to have an affinity for metal, so I figure it’s worth trying.” He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet now, caught up in enthusiasm. “First of all, we’ll start by seeing if you can sense the-“ He broke off suddenly, frowning. “Is something wrong?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Astrid said quickly, the denial at odds with the tension in her body, the wariness in her eyes. But then she seemed to slump a little, amending her answer to: “Maybe.”  
  
“Astrid,” he said, just before Yasmeena could speak. “If there’s a problem, it would be better if you told us about it.”  
  
She looked down for a moment; one of the few times Yasmeena could remember seeing her deliberately break eye contact when she was talking to someone. When she wrenched her gaze back up again, she seemed almost… resigned.  
  
“I’m not sure this is going to work either.” There was a brief flicker of unease in her eyes, and she quickly added: “I’m not trying to make excuses, it’s just…” She took a deep breath. “When I was in the MRI machine, my power kept… cutting out.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Kieran asked, frowning.  
  
Astrid shrugged awkwardly. “It just… stopped working. For minutes at a time.” She shivered, her fingers flexing, hands briefly curling almost into fists before opening again. “It’s the first time since I triggered that I’ve touched something and not been able to sense it.” With that, it was as if the floodgates had opened, Astrid’s words tumbling over each other until she was almost babbling. “Well, aside from a cushion that Clockblocker had frozen. But it kept happening all through the scan. It would shut off for a few minutes, and  I figured it was something to do with the magnetic field, but I don’t know if it’s because of the field directly fucking up my power or because the scan was doing something to my brain that fucked it up indirectly. But if it’s the former, then I’m not sure I’m going to do much of anything with magnetism, so I thought you should… probably… know…” She ground to a halt, her cheeks flushing crimson. “Sorry,” she muttered, pulling her shoulders back. “I didn’t mean to ramble on.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Kieran said absently. His gaze was distant, and the pen in his hand had ceased its restless dancing through his fingers.  
  
“I don’t remember Medical saying anything about your power glitching out,” Yasmeena said slowly, eyeing Astrid with suspicion.  
  
Astrid coughed, her flush deepening. “They, uh, didn’t know,” she muttered. The words were so quiet that Yasmeena had to strain to hear them.  
  
“Of course they didn’t,” Yasmeena said, rolling her eyes. “Because of course you didn’t do the sensible thing and, I don’t know, actually inform the people evaluating your power about something that seems to turn it off. What was I thinking? I mean, it’s not like that’s important or anything.”  
  
“Astrid,” Kieran said reproachfully, his attention firmly focused on the idiot girl once more. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”  
  
“Well…” she began, haltingly. “When I came out of the scanner, I was just so relieved to have my power back that I… It was a little distracting. And then Dr Mackinley wanted to get on with the sensory testing, and she didn’t seem to want me to speak unless it was in response to specific questions, so I didn’t really want to interrupt her. And…” She sighed, sounding thoroughly miserable. Which was probably no more than she deserved, all things considered. “No one asked me.” With what seemed like an effort, put her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to withhold information.”  
  
“And, of course, while you were stuck in the MRI machine, and without the sensors, the Psychology team would have had no clue that you were freaking out, so no one would have known to specifically ask you about it,” Yasmeena said. She assumed someone had probably checked on Astrid at regular intervals, at least asked her in general terms if she was okay. It didn’t seem worth asking the stupid, stupid girl why she hadn’t simply said ‘no.’  
  
“I wasn’t freaking out,” Astrid muttered, shooting a half-hearted glare at her from under her eyelashes.  
  
“Uhuh,” Yasmeena said, sceptically.  
  
“Yasmeena, please stop trying to provoke the stressed parahuman.” Kimberly’s voice sounded a little pained. Yasmeena honestly didn’t see what the issue was. It wasn’t like Astrid was lashing out with her power, or losing control of it. All she really seemed to do when she got mad was glare a bit; maybe snap out a sharp retort or two. And, given her comments earlier, it seemed more than likely she’d just get pissed off if she thought people were tiptoeing around her. Yasmeena certainly would have done in her position. But a directive was a directive, and so she supposed she’d just have to try to rein it in a little.  
  
Despite the provocation.  
  
“You should have told someone, Astrid,” Kieran said, heading off whatever it was Astrid had just drawn breath to say. His brows had pulled together, and he shook his head, his expression disappointed. “It’s important for us to know anything that might be relevant. What if you ended up having your power nullified in the middle of a fight because no one knew to warn you it might be a problem? This is exactly the kind of thing we’re supposed to be trying to find out. Concealing information like that defeats the whole purpose of the evaluation. Do you understand?”  
  
As Kieran spoke, the flush faded from Astrid’s cheeks, leaving her visibly pale. “Yes, Sir,” she said, almost whispering the words.  
  
Yasmeena studied her, wishing she could just ask Astrid what the hell her deal was. Strict school? Strict parents? Unfortunately, Kimberly would probably have a fit if she asked anything of the sort. Plus… there was the fact that she didn’t actually want to upset the kid. Shake her up a little, maybe; get her to actually start questioning some of the assumptions she seemed to have. But that wasn’t nearly the same thing.  
  
Kieran sighed softly. “You’re not in trouble,” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse again; a little sad, maybe. “Just… Can you please tell us things like this from now on?”  
  
Astrid nodded jerkily. “Alright,” she said.  
  
Well, this wasn’t awkward in the slightest. It was actually a relief when Kieran drew himself up and said: “Alright, let’s press on with the testing. Let’s see if we can clarify precisely how magnetism affects your power…”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

“You know,” Kieran said. “There are plenty of effective heroes who have limitations on their powers. The key is to know what they are ahead of time so you can work around them.” He leaned back against a bench, giving Astrid what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “And, even if it’s something that can’t be worked around, you have team mates who can cover for any weaknesses.”  
  
(‘Luckily, we’d had the foresight to call for backup before engaging,’ Dr Flux had told him. ‘So, just as my life started flashing before my eyes, the rest of my team showed up.’ He’d frowned briefly, raising one hand to touch the dressing that covered part of his face; letting it drop again to brush against the cast around his leg. ‘Could have done with them getting there a couple of minutes earlier maybe but, eh. Any fight you can more or less hobble away from is a good one, right?’)  
  
“Kieran, please try to avoid using words like ‘weakness’ with regards to Astrid.” He must have been growing used to hearing Kim’s voice in his ear. This time, he didn’t even have to suppress a start of surprise.  
  
“Not that it’s a weakness, of course,” he corrected, hurriedly. “It’s just… something that you have to be aware of.” _Dammit!_ He should’ve just moved on. Now this was even more tense and awkward. What had he been thinking? “Anyway,” he said. “I think we’re done with magnetism now. Do you want to take a break before we move on to the next part of the test?”  
  
Astrid shook her head. “I’d rather press on, if that’s okay,” she said, which Kieran really should have predicted she’d say. Or words to that effect, anyway. If he’d been thinking more clearly, he would just have said they were taking a break and that was that. Perhaps he should do that anyway. But… maybe it would be reassuring for her to continue for a little while; to prove to herself that her power was hers again. And it wasn’t like this part of the test should be particularly taxing.  
  
“Okay,” he said. “The next testing station is set up over here.”  
  
He led Astrid over to where Yas was already checking over the equipment laid out on the bench. Yas glanced up as they approached. “Everything’s shipshape,” she reported, which was exactly as he’d expected.  
  
“Great, thanks,” he said, wondering if he should take her aside and quietly reinforce Kimberly’s admonition not to provoke Astrid from now on.  
  
What had Kimberly and the rest of the Psych team had been thinking, telling him not to interfere when Yas took Astrid to task earlier? It had worked out for the best in the end, he supposed — at the very least, Yas seemed to have succeeded in making Astrid think a little bit — but it had almost been physically painful to watch.  
  
He was just glad that she hadn’t actually made Astrid cry.  
  
(Even now, he still winced inside at the memory of Cathy practically running him over as she’d all-but sprinted away down the corridor, tears streaming from her bright red eyes. The sound of her great, hiccuping sobs had seemed to echo behind her long after she’d disappeared from view. That had also been pretty damn painful. Sure, Cathy could have stood to be a little more organised when planning her research, and she should have spoken up sooner when she realised that her methodology had some serious flaws. Plus, her time-keeping could have done with some work. Okay, there may have been few other areas in which she’d had definite room for improvement. _And,_ he was forced to admit. _Cathy certainly did turn things around after that little chat…_ )  
  
(But surely Yas didn’t have to be quite so harsh with the poor girl?)  
  
(With either of them, really.)  
  
“Do you want to explain the set up, or should I?” she asked, apparently oblivious to the not entirely complimentary thoughts flashing through his mind.  
  
“You go ahead,” he said, after a moment. Now Kimberly had warned her, she would undoubtedly be more careful. She wasn’t cruel, after all; just a little overly blunt on occasion. And it wasn’t like this test set up was a particularly fraught subject. (Not like magnetism, which would undoubtedly be something of a sore spot for Astrid from now on.) Banishing the distracting half-thoughts fluttering around in his head, he smiled at Yas. “You and your sparks made this apparatus, after all.”  
  
Yas grinned back at him and then turned her attention to Astrid. “It’s pretty straightforward,” she said, cheerfully. “These are black boxes. Inside each one, there’s circuitry of various levels of complexity, with components made from a variety of materials. We’d like you to analyse each one in turn and sketch out the insides, identifying as many components and materials as you can.” There was a brief pause, and if this was someone other than Yas, he would have said she hesitated before adding: “Don’t worry if you don’t get everything. Frankly, we’ll be impressed if you get any of it. So just do your best, okay?”  
  
“Of course,” Astrid said, giving Yas a funny look. “Shall I start now?”  
  
Kieran nodded. “Whenever you’re ready,” he said.  
  
And if he mentally crossed his fingers and wished her luck?  
  
Well, no one but him ever needed to know.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Looks like electrical and electronic engineering are definitely going on my list,” Astrid muttered.  
  
Kieran, in the middle of jotting down some notes with his borrowed pen, was slow to respond, so Yas got there first.  
  
“What list is that?” she asked, grinning. “The ‘things I want to erase from existence’ list?”  
  
_Well, that wasn’t too bad. A little mild teasing doesn’t really count as ‘provoking,’ right?_ He probably had just been worrying over nothing.  
  
“No, of course not,” Astrid said, giving her a sidelong — and possibly slightly irritated — glance. “The list of subjects I’m probably going to have to study if I want to get the most out of my power.” She sighed, her expression glum. “It’s turning into quite a long list.”  
  
“Oh, cheer up,” Yas said, not without a certain amount of sympathy. Trace amounts, maybe. “You didn’t do badly. For an untrained highschooler, you actually did pretty well. Don’t you think so, Kieran?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Kieran said, looking up with a smile. “And you’ll only get better with practice. Like I said earlier, you don’t have to master absolutely everything right out of the gate. You’ve got time.”  
  
“Anyway,” Yas put in. “No matter how fascinating this aspect of your power is to the likes of me — or how googly-eyed Kieran goes over the fact that you’re basically a walking combination of analysis lab and workshop…” She gave him a sly smirk, to which he merely shrugged laconically. It wasn’t like she was wrong, after all. “When you go back to Brockton Bay, they’re going to have you focusing on the stuff that’s actually going to keep you alive in a fight. Unless you have to defuse a bomb or deactivate some kind of tinker device, I doubt that’s generally going to come down to how well you can map out circuitry.”  
  
Kieran blinked at that, feeling like the world just shifted around him. That was… It wasn’t like he’d forgotten the purpose of this evaluation, not really. He’d just… gotten caught a little caught up in the excitement of discovery; in studying a power that actually made something approaching sense to him.  
  
(Sure, there were bits of it that didn’t. Such as: where did the energy come from? How could Astrid process all the information her power gave her? How could she even manipulate chemical bonds just by willing it? Why did strong magnetic fields cancel out her power — ‘like it just went silent and dark,’ she’d said — but electricity didn’t even register to it at all? So many questions… By and large, though, the mechanism might be quixotic, but the effects? Those, he understood.)  
  
But, much though he’d kind of started thinking of this as another research project, it wasn’t. It wasn’t about expanding knowledge, or answering questions, or even pinning down the parameters of an ability that would be so useful for some of his group’s projects. No, the whole point of this exercise was for the PRT to figure out how they could use Astrid out in, well, ‘the field,’ as Nick would say. She’d be going on patrols. Maybe she’d even end up fighting villains, although at least he could console himself with the fact that, as a Ward, she was unlikely to see much in the way of actual combat.  
  
He hoped.  
  
It was the principle of the thing, though.  
  
“If I have to do something like that, I’d just rip it apart,” Astrid said. “Far quicker and easier than tracing out circuits until I find the off-switch.”  
  
The matter of fact way she said that — like it was no big deal; like she wasn’t even a little freaked out at the thought of being in the kind of situation where she might be called on to defuse a bomb — seemed to turn each word into a needle stabbing straight into his chest.  
  
He was — at least in theory — helping to prepare a teenage girl to go out and fight. And that… It just didn’t sit right with him. Much though she might claim otherwise, she was just a child; not more than a couple of years older than his eldest niece. His stomach fluttered with queasiness at the thought of Eileen being prepared like this. And then he thought about the little he knew about trigger events, and it felt like his heart twisted in his chest.  
  
Jesus.  
  
The hell of it was, it was so easy to focus on the power itself — how fascinating it was, or how cool, or even, in some cases, how outright terrifying — that you forgot, sometimes, where they came from. Honestly, even with the adult capes he was more used to, it was something he preferred not to think about. Easier by far to focus on the positives, like the truly marvellous things they could do, or the knowledge they could uncover. But now, he looked at Astrid and he couldn’t stop thinking about it; couldn’t stop himself from wondering.  
  
What had happened to her?  
  
He had some ideas, of course. Hard not to, with the way Kimberly kept asking him to reassure Astrid that she wasn’t in trouble, that she wasn’t failing, that she wasn’t going to be punished. And now, rather than putting her in counselling and giving her a chance to deal with whatever it was (no, he knew what it was, or thought he did; he just didn’t want to put it into words), the PRT were training her to go out and fight?  
  
“Just like that, huh?” Yas said, raising her eyebrows a little.  
  
_Just like that,_ he echoed, in the privacy of his own mind.  
  
Except…  
  
Except it wasn’t that simple, was it? Whatever happened from this point onwards, Astrid was a cape. A parahuman. She had powers. That was a genie that wasn’t going back in the bottle. Even if she’d wanted to, she couldn’t spend the rest of her life inside an MRI machine. So, this wasn’t just about getting her ready to fight. She had to learn how to use her powers, or at least, how not to harm herself or others with them. This evaluation was a necessary part of that.  
  
He wasn’t just helping the PRT. He was helping Astrid.  
  
Maybe if he told himself that enough times, it would stop him feeling so guilty.  
  
“Yes,” Astrid replied, and it took him a moment to pick up the thread of the conversation. “Breaking things is easy. Fixing things; making things… That’s the hard part.”  
  
“Kieran, can you please ask Astrid to explain that?” asked Kimberly, her voice dragging his thoughts away from their distinctly maudlin turn  
  
“What do you mean by that, Astrid?” Kieran asked, leaping at the chance to distract himself. He didn’t even have to make an effort to sound interested, his curiosity kindling into life.  
  
Astrid shrugged, the movement a little stiff and awkward. “Exactly what I said, really.” Her lips tightened, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “I guess it’s just easier to destroy than create.”  
  
“Have you ever destroyed anything by accident?” Yas asked, curiously, the bluntness of the question making Kieran wince internally. And… possibly externally. Unexpectedly, there was no interjection from Kimberly, so he kept his instinctive protest unspoken, on the tip of his tongue.  
  
“Yes,” Astrid said shortly, turning her attention to Kieran before Yas could ask anything further. “What would you like me to do now?” she asked.  
  
That was pretty much a glowing neon sign saying she didn’t want to discuss the matter further. Fortunately, Yas seemed to take the hint.  
  
He checked his watch, figuring it was more or less time to take a break, but before he could say that, Kimberly interrupted. “Please continue with the next batch of tests for the moment. And please keep Yasmeena as your assistant if possible.”  
  
That gave him a moment’s pause. Yas was supposed to be switching with Curtis at this point, since the next tests were more his bailiwick than hers. Not that it would really be a problem. Even though materials science wasn’t her speciality, she — like the rest of them — had had to become something of a polymath over the years, so she certainly had enough of the basics. Besides, when push came to shove, directives from Psych aside, it wasn’t like he really needed an assistant for this.  
  
Why did Kim want Yas to stick around, though? He would’ve though she’d take the first opportunity to switch her for someone less likely to ‘provoke’ Astrid. But… he supposed he didn’t really see the harm in it. At least not while Yas was more or less behaving.  
  
Mentally crossing his fingers (and hoping he wouldn’t have cause to regret this), he covered his unease with cheer.  
  
“We’re going to further test your ability to alter the properties of materials. Like tensile strength, for example, or electrical resistance. Basically, we’ll ask you to touch a sample and attempt to alter it in a specific way.” He tried to keep his demeanour casual as he turned to Yas and raised his eyebrows enquiringly. “Mind sticking around for this one, Yas? I was figuring we’d break for food immediately afterwards, and it seems silly to waste time on a shift change right now.”  
  
“Food would be great!” Astrid said, perking up noticeably. A moment later, though, her cheeks flushed and she seemed to hunch in on herself a little. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. And I’m fine to continue as long as you need.”  
  
Yas laughed, seemingly unfazed by the dirty look Astrid shot her way. “Sure, I don’t mind helping out. Wouldn’t want to keep our little test subject from her dinner any longer than we have to.”  
  
Kieran was half expecting Astrid to protest the moniker, but she contented herself with merely glaring daggers as Yas for a moment, and then very pointedly focusing on him.  
  
“Ready when you are, Kieran,” she said, giving him a small but genuine-seeming smile.  
  
Hearing her call him by name, unprompted, kindled a warmth in his chest that spilled out into an answering smile of his own. (Although, at this point, he would’ve been glad enough to hear Dr Bailey; anything other than ‘Sir.’) Maybe she was finally starting to realise he wasn’t the ogre she’d obviously expected. Maybe, despite everything, she was finally starting to relax a little.  
  
He just hoped — prayed, really (and how long was it since he’d done that?) — that Psych would let it continue. If not for the rest of the evaluation, then at least until the poor girl had had her dinner.  
  
Was that really too much to ask?

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Seemed like you were having fun there,” Yas commented, as Kieran wrote up some notes on the results of the last test. It sounded to him like she was just trying to make conversation. Nevertheless, from the glare Astrid gave her, you’d think it had been some cutting insult. “What?” she said, raising her eyebrows enquiringly. There was an edge to the word, because Yas was who she was, but she sounded genuinely puzzled.  
  
Kieran thought about intervening, but he thought about it a moment too long, because Astrid was already speaking.  
  
“I like learning things that might improve my chances of survival,” she retorted, her tone at least as sharp as Yas’. “Being able to alter my metal’s tensile strength and elasticity seems like it would be extremely useful in the field. Not to mention being able to make my armour tougher.” Her breath huffed out in a short, frustrated sound, and she muttered: “Assuming I ever figure out how to make my armour work at all.”  
  
“Without hurting yourself,” Yas reminded her.  
  
Astrid looked at her through narrowed eyes. “Yeah,” she said, after a moment. Kieran would have preferred it if she’d sounded a little more convincing.  
  
Honestly, he would have preferred it if she hadn’t had to think about ‘improving her chances of survival.’ But, practically speaking, he supposed it was good, in a way, that she was thinking about it. Although he hoped (prayed) that she wouldn’t have to put that to the test anytime soon. Preferably not until after she’d graduated to the Protectorate. Assuming, of course, that she did go that route.  
  
But he supposed there was no point in worrying about it.  
  
(Not that that was actually going to stop him.)  
  
“Kieran,” Kimberly said quietly. “I think Astrid may have kept hold of some metal again. Please don’t ask her about it just yet, though. Can you please send Astrid and Yas off upstairs so you can discreetly check and let me know one way or another?”  
  
He blinked, a little surprised she wasn’t making him simply ask Astrid about it right then and there. Not that he was complaining. It was only a bit of metal, after all. It wasn’t like it was particularly valuable, and he doubted she’d taken much. If it helped her feel a little more comfortable, where was the harm?  
  
“Astrid, Yas,” he said, interrupting what seemed to have turned into a slightly less sharp-edged discussion of potential practical applications of some of the things Astrid could do with her power. “I need to make a few more notes. Why don’t you go upstairs and start the ball rolling on the dinner debate?” He grinned. “I’m sure I can rely on you to keep things civil, Yas.”  
  
_At least I’m getting plenty of opportunity to brush up on my dissembling skills,_ he thought to himself, only a little bitterly. Except the look Yas levelled at him was distinctly… speculative. Maybe he wasn’t as convincing as he’d thought. Still, whatever suspicions she may have harboured, she kept them to herself.  
  
“Aye aye, Chief,” she drawled. “I can break some heads if necessary.” She turned to Astrid with a lopsided grin. “Since you’re our guest and all, you can have the deciding vote in the event of a tie.”  
  
“Excuse me?” Astrid said, a look of utter confusion on her face.  
  
“We were planning on getting takeout,” Yas informed her. “The canteen food isn’t bad, but we do eat a lot of it and, well, this is a special occasion. When we’ve had takeout as a group before, there’s occasionally been a certain amount of, let’s call it ‘vigorous debate’ over where to order from. Since you’re our guest, and we’ve been working you pretty hard, I think you deserve to have the final say.”  
  
It was a nice idea, and one that really should have occurred to him. He was glad that Yas, at least, had been on the ball. Of course, that assumed Astrid would actually want to eat with them. She might prefer to go back to the main campus for a bit; get a little time away from the Garage. And, perhaps, from Kieran and his team.  
  
He’d have to make sure to ask her what she actually wanted to do when he went back upstairs.  
  
“Oh, um, thanks,” Astrid said, a little wide-eyed. “But I’m fine with whatever. Really. If people feel that strongly about it…”  
  
“You’ll note I didn’t say you just get to pick what we order,” Yas said. “I think that would lead to outright revolt. But if we do end up with a tie, someone has to break it.” She shrugged. “Might as well be you.”  
  
“I see,” Astrid said. “Well… sure, I guess. If that’s okay.”  
  
Yas rolled her eyes. “If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said it,” she said. “Anyway, what are we standing around down here, for? Let’s get going.” She started off towards the stairs. After a moment, Astrid strode after her, easily keeping pace. “Don’t take too long, Kieran,” she called back. “Otherwise you won’t get a say.”  
  
“I won’t,” he said absently.  
  
Too impatient to wait until they were fully out of the door, he let his gaze drift subtly — he hoped — over the test materials. A sigh welled up in his chest, but he kept it inside. He’d have to check the inventory to be absolutely, positively, beyond-all-shadow-of-a-doubt certain-sure, but…  
  
_She really did walk off with some metal. Again._  
  
He hoped Kimberly didn’t ask him to take it off her. Or, even better, maybe they could just let her have her original ‘bracelets’ back. If they did, then perhaps she wouldn’t keep subconsciously trying to replace them at every turn. He was just drawing breath to give Kim the news, when he heard a loud hissing sound, closely followed by a loud shriek.  
  
_Yas!_  
  
Kieran was moving almost before the thought finished forming; his pulse pounding in his ears and his breath coming fast and sharp as he sprinted across the testing floor. He scrambled through the open doorway, only to skid to a halt before the sea — well, a small sea; okay, maybe a pond — of yellow-white, gloopy liquid that blocked the way. The spray had shut off by the time he got there, but Yas and Astrid were already partially covered in the stuff, which was starting to expand and solidify before his eyes. He was forced to skip back a couple of steps to avoid being snared by what he now realised was containment foam.  
  
_What?_ he thought, confused. Had Astrid’s power flared out of control or something? Had Psych had to shut her down? But surely Kimberly would have said something…  
  
“What the fuck?” Yas yelped, lifting her chin up to keep her face clear of the stuff as she struggled fruitlessly to free herself.  
  
“Confoam,” Astrid said, somewhat more calmly. She twisted from side to side as much as she could, apparently testing how much give the foam had in it. Not all that much, apparently.  
  
“Are you alright?” he asked, practically vibrating in place with the need to rush over there and **do something** ; kept where he was by the knowledge that, if he did that, the only thing he’d achieve would be to trap himself as well. “What happened?”  
  
“Fine,” Astrid said. Her tone was distant, her gaze a little unfocused, but she didn’t seem upset or panicky or anything.  
  
“I’m apparently stuck in containment foam,” Yasmeena snapped. “What do you think?” She made a frustrated noise and stopped struggling, fixing Kieran with a baleful gaze. “What happened was that we were walking along minding our own business, and suddenly **this**.” She jerked her chin at the foam encasing her almost to chest level, trapping her arms by her side. “What the hell, Kieran?”  
  
“One of the dispensers must have malfunctioned,” he said slowly, frowning. There were a few of them concealed here and there in the walls and ceilings of the Garage, in case of emergencies. But what could possibly have made this one activate? Unless…  
  
“What’s going on?” Curtis called down from the stairwell. “Yas screamed like her hair was on fire.”  
  
“I did not!” she said, glaring as best as she could in his direction. “Apparently there was a confoam dispenser malfunction, or something.” She looked up warily, although given her current predicament, it wasn’t like she could try to dodge if the dispenser activated again. “Kieran, you might want to stand back in case it happens again. No sense in you being stuck too.” Her tone was resigned now, rather than angry, but the narrow-eyed look she shot Kieran told him that the discussion was far from over. Well, that was fine with him. He certainly didn’t blame her for being suspicious, especially given what had happened with Eliot earlier. Given his innocence in the matter, though, he was reasonably confident he’d be able to allay those suspicions.  
  
Or, at least, direct them somewhere more appropriate.  
  
He took another step backwards, even though he somehow doubted it would prove necessary.  
  
“Astrid, are you okay?” Curtis asked,  
  
She started suddenly, as if her attention had been elsewhere. “Yes, of course,” she said, belatedly, sounding a little puzzled as she glanced towards him. “It’s only conform.”  
  
She really did seem to be taking this remarkably calmly.  
  
“Well, just hold on for a bit,” Kieran said, adopting a reassuring tone anyway. (Even if Astrid didn’t need the reassurance, it might help to calm Yas down a little.) “There should be some confoam solvent around here somewhere. I just need to find it.”  
  
“I’m not sure that’s going to be necessary,” Astrid said thoughtfully. “Just give me a moment…”  
  
The confoam rippled visibly, and then flowed back, away from them, leaving them in an area of clear space, barring what looked like a rope of the stuff that trailed between the main mass and one of Astrid’s hands. Yas stumbled briefly, but righted herself before she could fall. When Astrid opened up a path leading out of the confoam, she didn’t hesitate to make use of it, making her way hurriedly towards Kieran.  
  
“Useful trick,” she drawled, only a little bit wide-eyed now, as she leaned on the doorframe next to him.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “I had been wanting to try my power on confoam,” she murmured. She frowned, glancing up in the direction of the offending dispenser, which still dripped blobs of liquid every now and then. “This wasn’t really the kind of test I had in mind. I’m glad it worked, though.”  
  
“Me too,” Yas said fervently.  
  
By this point, everyone else had come out to see what all the fuss was about, crowding onto the small landing at the top of the stairs. Vincent broke free of the small knot of people to hurry down the stairs, coming to a halt as close to the bottom as he could get without stepping in confoam.  
  
“What happened? Is everyone alright? Is anyone hurt?” Even to Kieran’s now somewhat jaundiced appraisal, Vincent seemed genuinely concerned, his head turning this way and that as if he was trying to keep an eye on everything and everyone, although his eyes kept returning to Astrid.  
  
“Confoam dispenser malfunction. Apparently.” Yasmeena said flatly, giving Vincent a not entirely friendly look. “No harm done except to my dignity.”  
  
“That’s good,” he said, either oblivious to her hostility, or merely choosing to ignore it, giving her a smile before focusing his full attention on Astrid. “Are you okay, Astrid?” he asked, his tone gentle.  
  
“I’m fine,” she said, sounding surprisingly cheerful, all things considered. And, for her at least, she sounded positively giddy as she went on to add: “My power works on confoam.”  
  
“Useful,” Nick murmured. “It means the PRT can deploy it around you without having to worry about friendly fire.”  
  
“That’s definitely useful,” she agreed, her lips quirking upwards ever so slightly at the corners.  
  
“Yes, well,” Kieran said, belatedly feeling like he probably should at least start thinking about doing something helpful. “I’m glad you’re both alright.” He turned slightly to include the others with his next question. “Now, do any of you happen to know where the solvent is? We need to get rid of this. And I guess we should get maintenance to take a look at the dispenser.”  
  
“I’ll do that,” Yas said firmly. “No idea where the solvent is, though.”  
  
“We don’t actually need it,” Astrid said, matter of factly. “If you just want the foam gone, I can take care of it. There’ll be some dust to sweep up afterwards, but I can do that if someone points me in the direction of a broom, or a dustpan and brush.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure they have people who can do the actual sweeping,” Vincent put in, smiling. “Janitors or somebody.”  
  
If Yas had rolled her eyes any harder, Kieran thought they might have ended up facing the wrong way. “ **I’ll** do the damn sweeping,” she said, her voice practically dripping with contempt. Vincent kept his smile, although it maybe dimmed just a touch. “Astrid,” Yas continued. “Can you please just get rid of it before someone else gets stuck?”  
  
Astrid looked at Kieran, her eyebrows raised slightly, questioningly, as she stood up straight.  
  
“Would you like me to?” she asked.  
  
“Yes, please,” he said, after a moment. It wasn’t exactly a difficult decision. They couldn’t just leave the foam there, and this meant they didn’t have to waste time tracking down the solvent. (He made a mental note to add it to the checklist for any future evaluations. Just in case.) Besides, he was more than a little curious. He’d had her demonstrate her ability to reduce an object to dust during a previous test, but this was a considerably larger ‘object’ than any of those test samples had been. Would the size slow her down at all? Would it make it more difficult? Would the substance’s unusual structure and relative complexity make a difference?  
  
Astrid nodded as the questions tumbled through his mind. Before he could even think about speaking any of them aloud, however, the containment foam rippled again, and abruptly fell into dust.  
  
_Huh._  
  
Well, that was answer enough.  
  
Apparently, destruction really did come easily to her power.  
  
Yas arched an eyebrow. “That’s also a neat trick,” she drawled. She bent to scoop up some of the dust, rubbing it between her fingers. She wasn’t alone in that, Kieran having done the same. It was very fine-grained dust, smearing on his skin a little like charcoal. He’d have to ask Yas to take some samples when she swept this up…  
  
“Yes, it’s useful on occasion,” Astrid said. She sounded almost breathless, and Kieran studied her with concern. Her eyes looked very dark all of a sudden, probably because her pupils were dilated, and her cheeks were tinged faintly pink. Destroying the confoam seemed to have gotten much more of a reaction from her than being stuck in it had. Not that she’d precisely been stuck in it, of course, but…  
  
“Is something wrong?” Kieran asked her.  
  
“No, nothing,” Astrid said, her flush deepening as she met his gaze, her back ramrod straight and her hands at her sides. If it wasn’t for the blush staining her cheeks, and her slightly wide, still-dilated eyes, she might even have had half a chance of being something approaching convincing. “I’m fine,” she added.  
  
Kieran frowned, wondering if she’d managed to injure or otherwise harm herself somehow. Before he could ask about it, though, Kimberly spoke.  
  
“Please don’t question Astrid further on that subject, any of you,” she said.  
  
There wasn’t really anything he could say to that. He was, however, definitely going to take Kimberly up on that offer of a chat after the evaluation. He already had a long list of questions, and now there was one that had pride of place.  
  
Was the malfunction really a malfunction? Or was it just another test?  
  
(He wasn’t entirely certain what he’d do if Kimberly actually confirmed his suspicion, but he felt like he should at least protest, albeit belatedly and to not much effect.)  
  
For the moment, though, there were other concerns.  
  
“Well, now that the excitement’s over with,” he said, striving to maintain his usual cheerful demeanour. “I don’t know about you lot, but I think it’s time for dinner. What do you say?”  
  
He just hoped they’d be able to enjoy that in peace. Or, at least, that Astrid would.  
  
Psych could give her that much, couldn’t they?


	8. Chapter 8

**_Nick_ **

 

“I’ll take that bet,” Nick said, wheeling himself a little closer to Curtis so he could keep his words to a low murmur. “Loser has to deal with Nordhoff on Thursday.”  
  
“Um…” Curtis said, suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. “Well, I didn’t really mean a bet, per se. Like, not with actual stakes or anything. I was just expressing an opinion.”  
  
“A strong opinion,” Nick drawled, arching an eyebrow as he regarded Curtis steadily. “What’s wrong? Not willing to put your money where your mouth is?”  
  
“I’d risk money,” Curtis said. “But having to talk to Nordhoff?” He pulled a face. “Life’s too short, man. Way too short. You’re talking about hours of my life I wouldn’t get back.”  
  
“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you arguing about so vigorously?” Eliot asked, tilting his head quizzically.  
  
 _It speaks!_ Nick thought to himself. No that wasn’t fair. Eliot might be something of a cold fish, but he had seemed to thaw a little since his stint on the testing floor. He’d even contributed to the Great Dinner Debate, albeit in a diffident, self-conscious kind of way. _Maybe there’s hope for him yet._  
  
“Nick here thinks Astrid might have snaffled some of the metal from the testing floor. That’s his theory for why Kieran wanted to talk to her before we ordered dinner,” Melanie explained, smiling at Eliot. “Curtis disagrees. But apparently not enough to make a proper wager about it.”  
  
Curtis flung his hands in the air dramatically. “It’s Nordhoff!” he protested. “Would you?”  
  
“Dylan’s not so bad,” Melanie said, to Nick’s complete lack of surprise. “You just have to know how to handle him.”  
  
“Fine,” Curtis said. “In that case, you can take point on Thursday.”  
  
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Melanie said, her expression open and guileless. “I have a prior appointment.”  
  
“Of course you do,” Curtis said dryly.  
  
As the two of them proceeded to get side-tracked into a discussion about Nordhoff’s good and bad points — liberally peppered with observations from Curtis on the nature of hypocrisy — Eliot turned his attention to Nick.  
  
“Do you really think she stole some more metal?” he asked, his expression pinched.  
  
“Seems likely,” Nick said, twitching his shoulders in a minute shrug. Eliot’s face grew even more pinched, his  lips pursed like he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Not sure ‘stole’ is the right word, though.”  
  
Not that he actually objected — it was as good a word as any, really — but playing devil’s advocate was a great way to get people to talk. By and large, they were never more likely to open up about their beliefs and opinions than when they thought that someone might possibly disagree with them.  
  
Eliot paused in the act of reaching for another piece of naan bread, a tiny frown line forming between his brows.  
  
“Taking PRT property without permission certainly sounds a lot like stealing to me,” he said stiffly.  
  
“Not a believer in extenuating circumstances, huh?” Nick drawled, raising his eyebrows fractionally. Maybe Eliot was was going to be more fun than he’d initially thought…  
  
Eliot’s lips tightened a little. He continued his arrested movement, putting the piece of bread on his paper plate and spooning out some chutney. Nick gave it good odds that he would head off into a corner and barricade himself behind his tablet, but he actually took a seat next to Nick.  
  
 _Can’t be easy to sit down with that stick up his ass…_  
  
“I fail to see what manner of ‘extenuating circumstance’ would excuse someone walking off with testing materials,” he said. “It’s not like she’s a starving person stealing a loaf of bread. And I definitely don’t understand why she hasn’t even been reprimanded for it. How is she going to learn that it’s wrong if there are no consequences for her actions?”  
  
There were a number of things Nick could have said to that, but he was prevented by the arrival of the subject of their conversation. Vincent, naturally, was stuck to Astrid’s side like a limpet. A smooth-talking, impeccably-dressed limpet.  
  
 _His ‘principal.’ Heh._  
  
Still, Nick mentally tipped his nonexistent cap in the guy’s direction for not seeming to be anything other than perfectly at ease by Astrid’s side. Even now he’d actually seen something of what she could do with her power. Not everyone coped so well with being reminded that the person next to them was a walking WMD.  
  
 _Well,_ he amended. _At least a potential WMD._ It still remained to be seen what kind of range her abilities had, after all. Maybe she was merely a weapon of localised destruction; a WLD. Or possibly even just very localised destruction.  
  
Destruction on some scale, though; that was a given.  
  
“Mind if we join you?” Vincent asked, smiling affably at the little group like it never even occurred to him that someone would actually answer that question with ‘yes.’ But then, looking at him, Nick was willing to bet that people probably welcomed him with open arms wherever he went. Not that Nick had any objections to his presence, but… _Good job Yas isn’t sitting with us._  
  
Vincent’s gaze lingered a little longer on Melanie than on the rest of them, but then her eyes flicked over him in return as she smiled and tilted her head slightly.  
  
“Not at all,” she said.  
  
“Go ahead,” Curtis drawled, gesturing expansively at the empty seats. Astrid twitched ever so slightly as he moved, her weight shifting onto the balls of her feet and her fingers clenching minutely on the takeout container in her hands. A flash of something — annoyance? — showed in her eyes briefly, the skin around them tightening before her expression smoothed into a carefully polite smile.  
  
“Curtis, please do try to avoid making sudden movements around Astrid.” Kimberly’s voice was gently chiding.  
  
So, Nick wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her reaction. Psych did have the sensor readings to give them a clue, though. He just had his observational skills. And — unlike some of his colleagues — his common sense. You didn’t do things that might startle a new parahuman. You just didn’t. Even rookies knew that much. Sure, they might be one of the rare ones that actually had their shit together right from the outset, but, then again, they might not. And you wouldn’t necessarily know the difference until it was too late. Being careless was a good way to get yourself knocked through a wall, or to end up eating a laser, or whatever. And, sure, the cape in question might well be sorry afterwards, but that wouldn’t help the poor bastard they’d ‘reacted’ at.  
  
(‘I’m so sorry!’ the kid had practically yelped, his voice cracking a little. ‘I didn’t mean to do that. You startled me!’ The shield emblem on his chest had glinted in the late afternoon sunlight as he’d clasped his hands awkwardly behind his back, taking a deep breath. And then another one. It had taken a third before he could speak with something like composure. ‘Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?’)  
  
(‘Fine. I’m fine,’ Nick’s downed colleague had murmured, somewhat dazedly. ’Sure hope someone got the number of the truck that hit me, though.’)  
  
By the sounds of it, this was the second time Curtis had almost come a cropper. He should thank his lucky stars that Astrid seemed to be able to rein in her instincts. Although, to Nick’s eye, something about the way she moved; the way she held herself suggested training of some sort. Though it remained to be seen how much of that — if, indeed, she’d had it — would end up being applicable to her career as a cape.  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said, and it took a confused moment for him to realise she was answering Curtis’ words, not Kimberly’s. She looked over the available chairs for a moment, and then selected the one Nick would have picked for himself if he’d actually had a choice in the matter.  
  
 _Good eye,_ he thought, approvingly.  
  
Another mark in support of the ‘training’ theory.  
  
Vincent clearly had other priorities, positioning himself within easy conversational reach of both Astrid and Melanie. That also ended up putting him between Astrid and the door. Nick gave even odds that she’d ask him to move. On the one hand, with a few notable exceptions, she’d generally been almost as quiet as Eliot unless someone spoke directly to her. But, on the other hand, she hadn’t exactly been shy about letting Curtis know it when he pissed her off by calling her a kid.  
  
Like he’d said: even odds.  
  
Silence won out in the end, although Vincent did get a death glare to the back of the head as she repositioned her chair slightly to compensate for the obstruction.  
  
She glanced around as she settled herself. Nick was making no particular effort to hide that he was studying her, and so their eyes met as she looked in his direction. She flushed a little, but didn’t look away. If he’d been someone else, he would’ve had to fight the urge to grin at her response.  
  
“Optimal sightlines,” he murmured, managing to keep the amusement out of his voice.  
  
She nodded slowly. “Minimal avenues of approach,” she said softly. Her gaze flicked to the back of Vincent’s head again, her eyes narrowing briefly. “Clear exfil route.” Meeting Nick’s eyes again, she shrugged, one side of her mouth quirking up in a lopsided smile. “Habit, I guess.”  
  
 _Exfil. Huh. Interesting word choice for a teenager._  
  
“Didn’t think the PRT taught new Wards that kind of thing right from the get go,” he mused, choosing his words very carefully. It wasn’t technically a question. Technically. And if she chose to volunteer information, then Psych could hardly chew him out for that. They were allowed to discuss things she brought up herself, after all.  
  
“They don’t,” she said flatly, her smile fading into a studiedly neutral expression. “I learned that from my father.” Her jaw tensed for a moment as if she was clenching her teeth, her shoulders hunching, but then she drew in an audible breath and sat up straight, pushing her shoulders back. Her smile returned, or at least a version of it did; stiff and slightly awkward-looking on her face. “Army brat,” she said, simply.  
  
 _Well, that explains a few things…_  
  
“Me too,” he said.  
  
Her eyebrows raised, and the look she turned on him was assessing; evaluating. “Really?” she asked, and then winced. “Sorry. I wasn’t doubting you.”  
  
“That’s okay,” he said, making a conscious effort to smile so she’d know he wasn’t offended. (It felt weird, the way the scars on his cheek pulled with the motion. Not painful, just odd. It was just lucky he was never particularly the smiley-smiley type, even before…. Even before what happened.)  
  
He thought for a moment, painfully aware of the others completely failing to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. What were the odds that Psych would let him continue this line of conversation?  
  
 _Only one way to find out…_  
  
“My family’s served in the military for generations,” he said. “Army, mostly, although there are a couple of black sheep cousins who chose navy or air force instead.” He shrugged, his voice turning wry as he added: “I’m…” _No, past-tense, dammit!_ “I was the first one of us to join the PRT, though.” He kept smiling more through sheer force of will than anything else, hoping no one had noticed his slip. (These days he mostly didn’t slip; was usually good about following his therapist’s advice to live in the present, not the past. But being around someone who was actually from Brockton Bay; talking to her… Kinda made it harder to keep that door closed.) “Just about broke my father’s heart when I left the army to do so.”  
  
(‘You’re giving up, Nicholas,’ Dad had said. Somehow, the earnestness of his words had made what Nick had already known would be a hard conversation feel that much harder. ‘You have so much potential; I know you’re going to go far. All you have to do is stick it out.’)  
  
(‘I’m not giving up,’ he’d replied, reminding himself to stay calm; to keep to logic, not emotion. ‘But I can see the way the wind is blowing. The army is seriously downsizing. Half of my graduating class from West Point either didn’t make it in in the first place, or have already gone, and they all have as least as much potential as I do. Many of them have a damn sight more, believe me. Even if I make Captain, then-‘)  
  
(‘Of course you’ll make Captain,’ Dad had interrupted, his brows drawing together in an almost comically offended way.)  
  
(‘But what then?’ Nick had countered, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in his chest at his father’s unwavering, unquestioning faith in him. He’d taken a breath, trying to get his thoughts in order. ‘It’s not the same as it used to be, Dad. The world is changing. Has changed. And the PRT need people like me. At least there I can actually make a difference.’)  
  
( _Yeah,_ he thought, the word edged with bleak, bitter humour. _I made a fucking difference alright…_ )  
  
“My dad… doesn’t exactly approve of some of my… choices… either,” Astrid said, her words halting but sympathetic.  
  
It was with some relief that he let the smile go. “Sorry to hear that,” he said quietly.  
  
Her lips tightened. “Thanks,” she said stiffly. Her fingers flexed on the takeout carton still clutched in her hands. She glanced down at it as though she’d forgotten it was there. “I should probably finish this before it goes cold,” she added.  
  
“Wouldn’t want that,” he murmured. Curiosity or not, he didn’t need a voice in his ear to tell him when it was the wrong time to push.  
  
He got the voice anyway.  
  
“Please don’t press Astrid on the subject of her family. And if she brings it up herself, tread very carefully.”  
  
He wondered if that was aimed just at him, or at the whole group. If he was a gambling man — and he was — he’d hedge his bets and put his money on a little of both.  
  
Currently, Astrid’s attention seemed to be focused squarely on her food. Nick was amused to note the near-identical disapproving looks on Vincent’s and Eliot’ faces as she practically shovelled it into her mouth. The main difference was, Vincent’s only lasted a heartbeat before being replaced by a blandly cheerful expression, while Eliot’s lingered. Astrid showed no sign of noticing either.  
  
“I see your appetite is undiminished since lunch,” Vincent observed, surprising Nick with the gently teasing note in his voice.  
  
Astrid did give him a sharp look — as Nick had expected — but then she visibly relaxed, her cheeks reddening slightly as she smiled at him in a wry, self-conscious way.  
  
 _Huh. Guess there’s a reason he’s done this a few times._  
  
“Well, I generally keep pretty physically active,” she said. “That tends to give me a pretty healthy appetite. And, like I said earlier, it’s been a long day.”  
  
“What do you think of the food?” Melanie asked. She pointed at Astrid’s mostly empty carton with her plastic fork, amusement in her voice as she added: “Assuming you actually managed to taste any of it, that is.”  
  
“I did,” Astrid said, her flush deepening as she looked at Melanie. “I am. I eat pretty fast, I guess. Habit. But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it. We don’t…” The light in her eyes dimmed a little, briefly, her smile faltering, but she dialled it back up again as she continued. “I hardly ever have takeout food, so I don’t really have a lot to compare it to, but it’s not as unhealthy as I would’ve expected. And it tastes really good.”  
  
Looked like he wasn’t the only one mixing up word types. Only in her case, it was singular and plural, not past and present.  
  
“I’m glad you like it,” Melanie said, smiling. She leaned forward, lowering her voice mock-conspiratorially. “This place is one of my favourites, so I’m really very happy that you had the deciding vote. Good choice, Astrid.”  
  
Astrid seemed not to know how to respond to that, merely smiling back a little uncertainly as her cheeks went even pinker.  
  
“So,” Vincent said, apparently deciding that his duties also included rescuing his charge from… shyness, or embarrassment, or whatever it was that had her going so red. “I hear you’re going to be assisting with the next set of tests, Melanie.”  
  
“That’s right!” Melanie clapped her hands together excitedly. Fortunately, she remembered to put her fork down first this time, so the rest of them were spared the indignity of having to duck a second sharp-pronged projectile. “I have a whole bunch of things for you to poke at with your power. It’ll be fun! We were actually supposed to do this earlier in the day, but with the schedule being rearranged at the last minute, we figured it would be better to give you the chance to let your dinner settle before passing you over to Nick for the-“ She broke off mid-sentence, wrinkling her nose. “The thing I probably shouldn’t talk about,” she finished, her tone apologetic.  
  
Kimberly had politely ‘requested’ that they not fill Astrid in on the details of that particular test ahead of time. Well, she’d phrased it like a request, but Nick knew an order when he heard one, no matter how politely it was phrased.  
  
“So, the surprise is part of the test, then,” Astrid murmured. Her tone was pretty damn cynical for a kid, but then she was from Brockton Bay. In his experience, they bred them cynical there.  
  
Maybe that was something else she’d learned from her father.  
  
Wherever it came from, it briefly killed the conversation, everyone looking awkwardly at one another as the silence lingered like a bad smell. Not that Nick was silent out of awkwardness. He was just curious as to who would speak first, and what they’d say.  
  
 _Vincent or Melanie, most likely; and something reassuring._  
  
“Well, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not going to be that bad,” Vincent said, his voice gentle. It was like he thought he was soothing a spooked horse or something.  
  
 _Bet won,_ Nick thought with satisfaction.  
  
Behind Vincent’s head, Nick met Astrid’s gaze and, taking a minor gamble, rolled his eyes. In response, her own eyes sparked with amusement, her mouth lifting slightly at one side in a flicker of a wry smile.  
  
“I’m not worried,” she said, focusing her attention on Vincent. She seemed amused, rather than irritated, but Nick flattered himself that he might have had a little something to do with that. “I understand that the PRT needs to make sure I’m field ready. Warning me about the nature of all the tests ahead of time would defeat the purpose.”  
  
“That’s… a mature way of looking at it,” Eliot said, cautiously. Nick gave him props for managing to keep his voice free of surprise. He didn’t even bother betting with himself whether the surprise was actually there. With the way Eliot had talked about Astrid’s probable ‘theft’ of testing materials, it was pretty clear he didn’t exactly have the highest opinion of her.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “It’s the only way to look at it,” she said, simply. “The one thing you can guarantee about field work is that there are no guarantees. Makes sense they’d want to throw me a few curve balls.” She grinned tightly at Eliot, the expression as fierce as it was sudden. “Literally, in the case of those turrets.”  
  
Eliot actually twitched a little when Astrid turned that smile on him. Not a flinch, exactly, but not far off. Had she meant to scare him, or had it been accidental? Nick honestly wasn’t sure. Then again, Eliot had seemed a little rattled when he’d rejoined them earlier. Maybe he hadn’t recovered as much of his equilibrium since then as it had seemed.  
  
 _Possibly I laid it on a bit thick with the loaded gun thing._  
  
Not that the analogy was inaccurate, but perhaps it would have been better to ease him into it a little.  
  
 _Oh well. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose._  
  
But it was probably fixable. Maybe he’d have a quiet chat with Eliot afterwards; make sure he understood the rest of the lesson. Sure, capes were dangerous. But that didn’t mean you had to be afraid of them. (Not the ones on your side, at least. The rest of them were a whole different ball game, but there was nothing to be gained by opening up that particular can of worms.) You just had to use a little common sense. Really was no point in getting all jumpy about it.  
  
“You seemed to deal pretty well with those literal curve balls,” was all Nick said out loud, though. That hypothetical conversation with Eliot was definitely something for a later time.  
  
“Only the first time,” she said, pulling a slightly sour face. “But thanks.”  
  
“You’ll get better, I’m sure,” Melanie said sympathetically.   
  
“I’ll have to,” Astrid replied, rather grimly. “Because there’s no fucking way I’m going out there in the field without armour.”  
  
“Sensible,” pronounced Nick, with a mixture of both approval and amusement.  
  
“There’s always the option of ordinary armour, though, right?” Curtis asked, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Even power armour, although I guess you’d have to find a tinker to make that for you. And it would need regular maintenance, of course. But, my point is…”  
  
“You have one of those?” Melanie asked, her eyes wide and her tone overly sweet.  
  
“My point is,” Curtis repeated, shooting her an unimpressed look before continuing. “That, cool as it is to wrap yourself in metal and make it move with you — and, believe me, that is hella cool…”  
  
“Who even says ‘hella’ these days?” Melanie asked, laughing.  
  
“Apparently Curtis is stuck in the nineties,” Vincent said, leaning in towards Melanie a little as he laughed along with her.  
  
“You don’t actually have to, right?” Curtis finished, making a point of focusing completely on Astrid, and ignoring both Vincent and Melanie.  
  
Astrid was quiet for a moment before answering. “I don’t have to, no,” she said, and the utter seriousness of her voice and her expression made her seem older than her years. “But it gives me so many more options if I do.” Her lips stretched in a mirthless smile, and if the familiar bleak, bitter humour in her eyes stole Nick’s breath clean away, then her next words cut him to the quick. “And if I’m going to patrol the streets of Brockton **fucking** Bay, then I’ll take every goddamned advantage I can get.”  
  
Nick reeled inside, dragged unwillingly to a place miles and months behind him. Another pair of eyes, different to the ones looking back at him right now, and yet…  
  
And yet.  
  
It was the exact same expression.  
  
(‘Forget it, Prince.’ Marlene had said, her voice still hoarse from the combination of smoke and the steady stream of expletives she’d been almost screaming by the end. And he’d been so distracted, it hadn’t even occurred to him to complain about that fucking ridiculous nickname she kept trying to stick him with. ‘It’s Brockton **fucking** Bay.’)  
  
Nick clawed his way out of memory and hauled himself back from then-and-there to here-and-now, to find that while his mind had been elsewhere (elsewhen?), Vincent had started speaking.  
  
“… to be cautious,” he was saying, in a measured, careful tone. “I would think that, as a Ward, the chances of you getting involved in any violent altercations would be fairly slim.”  
  
He looked to Nick, then, his eyebrows raised slightly, almost pleadingly, as if he was hoping for support; whether for his own comfort or simply to keep his ‘principal’ calm. But Astrid was looking in Nick’s direction too, and she was the one going back to that place with the intent of making a difference. She was going to be out there in the field, and if she was going to do that then she needed to know the score. That had a far, far higher priority than mere peace of mind; hers or anybody else’s.  
  
 _Sorry, Vincent…_  
  
He took a slow, deliberate breath.  
  
“Actually,” he said, meeting and holding Astrid’s gaze. “Wards do sometimes end up seeing action. Nowhere near as often as the shit-stirrers on the cape forums and in the gutter press like to claim, but definitely more than the higher ups would like. Probably more than you’ve been told they do, I’d bet.”  
  
If you believed some of the accounts floating around out there, practically every Ward patrol ended in a cape fight. But Nick knew for a fact that wasn’t true. Hell, the majority of them didn’t even encounter any non-cape violence. That had certainly been the way of it when he was there, and — unless the situation in Brockton Bay had gotten even more seriously FUBAR since then — he’d give pretty good odds that was still the case.  
  
The PRT and Protectorate party line, however, was that it practically never happened. And that sure as shit wasn’t true either.  
  
“I’ve seen what those shit-stirrers have to say,” Astrid said, thoughtfully. “And I’ve also heard it implied that Wards only fight other capes once in a blue moon.” She shrugged. “Figured the truth was somewhere in between.”  
  
“Smart girl,” he said.  He considered for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Of course, it skews closer to one end or the other depending on how well you play by the rules. Stick to your assigned patrol route, obey any orders not to engage, and your odds go down. Do anything else…” He shrugged.  
  
She scrutinised him briefly, her expression completely opaque, and then she nodded, once.  
  
“Understood,” she said.  
  
“Outside of the patrols,” he continued. “Wards can also be pulled for particular ops. It’s supposed to be avoided if possible, but it still happens. If it’s an emergency, if the Protectorate capes are otherwise occupied, if someone’s abilities are just too useful not to have them there… Like I said, it happens.”  
  
“More so in Brockton Bay than in other places, or so I hear,” she said quietly, her words casually spoken but her eyes laser-focused on him.  
  
“Sounds about right,” he said easily. “Anyway, the upshot of all this is that yes, you’re likely to see at least some combat as a Ward. So, my advice would be to take every advantage you can get. Better to have it and not need it…”  
  
“Than to need it and be royally fucked when you don’t have it,” she finished softly, which might not have been the letter of what he was going to say, but damn well got the spirit of it down pat.  
  
“Yeah,” he said.  
  
She studied him for a moment longer and then smiled in a way that seemed almost to light up her whole face. “Thank you for being honest with me,” she told him. “I appreciate it.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” he drawled, a little touched despite himself at her genuine gratitude.  
  
 _God, she’s young,_ he couldn’t help thinking. Not that he planned on letting even a hint of that thought slip past his lips. And not that it mattered, in any event. Young or not, she was a parahuman, which automatically meant she was a threat. More than that, it meant that she’d fight.  
  
One way or another, they all did.  
  
(Phantom pain flared to life in his back and trailed down his legs, tormenting his useless flesh with the ghost of agony. He ignored it, of course.)  
  
 _At least this one is going to be fighting for our side._  
  
God knew they could use the help.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kimberly_ **

 

“To return to a previous topic, would you say that fitness is important to you?”  
  
The subject had come up once or twice, at least tangentially, and Kimberly judged it as good a lead in as any to what she really wanted to talk about.  
  
“Very much so, Ma’am,” Astrid said firmly.  
  
“Does that mean you train regularly?”  
  
Kimberly already knew the answer to that, of course, but asking questions one already knew the answer to had been a technique used in psychological evaluations for as long as there had been psychological evaluations.  
  
“Every day, Ma’am.”  
  
In light of the reports from Astrid’s team leader and Youth Guard representative, Kimberly had wondered whether bringing up her physical training might have caused her to become anxious or stressed. As far as she could tell, however, that wasn’t the case.  
  
Kimberly took the chance to jot down some notes.  
  
“Are you aware that, as a member of the Wards, you’ll receive both fitness and combat training?” she asked.  
  
She fully expected the answer to that question to be ‘yes.’ If it wasn’t, she’d be sending a strongly worded e-mail to Director Piggot.  
  
“Yes, Ma’am, that was explained to me.” Astrid actually seemed eager.  
  
“Huh,” Andrew said. “She actually seems to be relaxing a little.”  
  
“I’m not sure whether or not you’ve been informed of this, but depending on your interest in and aptitude for the combat training, there are also optional advanced courses available,” Kimberly said.  
  
“I would definitely be interested in something like that, Ma’am,” Astrid replied right away. She hesitated briefly, and then continued. “I have had some training in that regard already.”  
  
The impression Kimberly had formed was that ‘some’ might have been something of an understatement. But, no matter how brutal it might have been, it was still training. There was a difference between that and facing other parahumans in combat. Even regular exposure to violence — such as the kind Astrid had suffered in her home, or the fights she’d been involved in at school — was no guarantee that a person wouldn’t freeze, or otherwise respond badly when faced with having to fight for larger stakes.  
  
Or, as Kimberly had once heard it phrased: ‘It’s one thing to fight, but it’s another thing entirely to fight for your life. Just as fighting to defend one person that you care about isn’t the same as fighting for a whole group of civilians you don’t even know. Context matters, and even otherwise skilled combatants can choke in a cape fight.’  
  
“Ideally, Wards would not get involved in combat — that is supposed to be the Protectorate’s job, after all — but it does sometimes happen.” She paused for a moment to let that sink in. “Has that been explained to you?”  
  
If the answer to that was anything but a clear affirmative, Kimberly would do more than just send a sternly-worded e-mail.  
  
“It has, Ma’am,” Astrid said crisply.  
  
“And how do you feel about that?”  
  
“I don’t have a problem with it, Ma’am,” Astrid said decisively, somehow seeming to sit up even straighter in her seat. “I’m more than willing to fight if needed.”  
  
“I think this might be the calmest she’s been in the whole interview so far,” Andrew said, sounding a little concerned. “At least according to the sensors.”  
  
That was interesting. Not entirely surprising, perhaps, but interesting. And useful to know.  
  
Kimberly made a note to ask Dr Mackinley to let her know just how injured Astrid actually was.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Nick_ **

 

“Two words,” Curtis said. He drew his hand in an arc through the air, as if tracing out an invisible banner. (Astrid didn’t twitch this time, although she did follow the movement with her eyes.) “Cape. Dodgeball.” He looked around at the rest of them for support, grinning. “Am I right, or am I right?”  
  
The discussion about Wards seeing combat had briefly killed the conversation, leaving people to follow Astrid’s example and concentrate on their food. Nick, fighting to stem the tide of memories rising like bile in his throat, hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind to initiate anything like small talk. Fortunately, someone else had taken up that mantle. By the time Nick tuned in again, talk had turned to… whatever the hell this was.  
  
“Cape dodgeball?” he echoed sceptically.  
  
“Yes,” Curtis said, nodding enthusiastically. “Or, well, any kind of team sport, really, but that was the first one that came to mind. Probably because of the thing earlier.” He turned to grin at Astrid. “Of course, judging by your performance, you’d be a natural at it.”  
  
“I think smacking the ball out of the air would be considered against the rules,” Astrid said dryly, her eyes glinting with amusement.  
  
“Well, obviously the rules would have to be modified to take account of powers,” Curtis said, rolling his eyes. “But can’t you just imagine it? Cape dodgeball, football, basketball…” His eyes widened suddenly. “Wrestling,” he breathed, with the air of a man who’d just had a religious experience. “Holy shit: can you imagine? It would be **epic**!”  
  
“It sounds… dangerous,” Eliot said dubiously, his lips pursed. Nick agreed with him. Put a bunch of parahumans in a competitive environment with their egos on the line and have them start slinging powers at each other? It would be epic, alright. An epic clusterfuck. He’d put money on that. Hell, he’d wager dealing with Nordhoff on that outcome.  
  
“Danger, shmanger,” Curtis said airily, waving a dismissive hand in Eliot’s direction. “You’re just jealous because you didn’t think of it first.”  
  
“Yes. Jealousy. That must be what this is,” Eliot deadpanned.  
  
“You’d better not steal my idea,” Curtis said, contorting his features into an exaggerated glower that was undermined somewhat by the way his mouth quirked up and his voice shook with suppressed laughter. “Any of you. I mean it.”  
  
“Actually,” Vincent said lightly. “I hate to burst your bubble, Curtis, but I think you may be a little too late.”  
  
“What?” Curtis’ face dropped like a stone, from comedy to tragedy in the space of a heartbeat. “Are you saying it’s been done already? When? Where? Why didn’t I know about this?”  
  
“It was sometime in the late nineties,” Vincent said. “There was some kind of… cape sports league? Or, at least, that was the idea, if I remember correctly. It pretty much fizzled not long after it started, though. I think they only managed to organise three or four matches in total.” He gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I actually got to see one of those, as a birthday treat from my parents. Basketball, I think. Or maybe football? Either way, it was a lot of fun. Lasers and forcefields and flying and all manner of excitement.” He frowned, his gaze distant. “I think there were… collectible sticker books? And various other kinds of memorabilia, although obviously nothing on the scale of what the Protectorate heroes have nowadays.”  
  
“Do you still have any of it?” Melanie asked, her eyes alight with curiosity. “If so, I’d be interested to take a look.”  
  
“Behold the cape geek catching wind of her prey,” Nick mock-whispered.  
  
“Oh, hush, you,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him before she turned to Astrid. “It’s not true, Astrid,” she said, earnestly. “Don’t believe him. I just… have an interest in memorabilia, that’s all. It’s a form of art, in its own way, and also propaganda.” She pulled a face. “Okay, I didn’t mean that as negatively as it sounded. But it has a message, anyway. Like commercials, I suppose. But I’m rambling a little now.”  
  
“You’re not rambling,” Astrid hastened to assure her, smiling. “It’s interesting.”  
  
Melanie beamed at her. “That’s kind of you to say. But I-“  
  
“Mel collects cape action figures,” Curtis chimed in, apparently having recovered from his brief melancholy. But then, he always did bounce back quickly. “Dolls. Whatever you want to call them. That’s what she was trying to say.”  
  
Melanie flushed and hunched her shoulders a little. “I wouldn’t exactly say I collect them,” she muttered. “I just have one or two, that’s all.”  
  
“One or two hundred, more like.” As she protested, he grinned lopsidedly. “Hey,” he continued, in a sly tone. “When Astrid gets her own action figure, are you going to add one of those to your collection?”  
  
Astrid’s eyes flew wide, her already pink cheeks flushing even more. “My own… action figure?” she echoed faintly.  
  
“Every Protectorate and Ward hero gets one,” Melanie said gently, her smile almost apologetic. “Although most are just limited runs, mainly sold in their local PRT and Protectorate branches. And only the really famous or popular heroes get the full merchandising treatment.”  
  
Nick was amused to note that she didn’t actually answer Curtis’ question, which was probably answer enough by itself.  
  
“Oh,” Astrid said dully, the sound more of an exhalation than a word.  
  
“In any case,” Vincent said smoothly. “I’m afraid I probably don’t have any of those old sticker books and things these days. My mother likes to declutter whenever we move, so they were almost certainly purged at some point between then and now.”  
  
“Your family move around a lot, do they?” Nick couldn’t help asking.  
  
Vincent shrugged. “A consequence of my father’s work,” he said lightly. He shrugged, giving Nick a comradely grin. “I imagine you know what that’s like.”  
  
“Sure,” Nick said.  
  
“Me too,” Astrid said quietly.  
  
“It must be hard,” Melanie said, sympathetically. “Having to uproot your life every so often.”  
  
“Not really,” Astrid said flatly, her posture stiff and her expression closed off.  
  
Through their earbuds came the now-familiar warning to disengage from this topic, in Kimberly’s familiar dulcet tones, but Nick didn’t really pay attention, because Curtis was speaking.  
  
“You know what?” he mused, his eyes bright with enthusiasm and his voice full of muted excitement. “I’m thinking that maybe the time is right for a revival of the cape sporting league idea. There are so many more capes now, and if it was sponsored by or affiliated with the Protectorate or PRT somehow, I think it could really work.” He looked around the room, his gaze settling on Astrid. “What do you say, k- ah, Astrid? Care to be the first star of the parahuman sports circuit?”  
  
“Nice save,” Nick murmured, amused. Curtis twitched a little, but otherwise did a good impression of pretending he hadn’t heard a thing. _At least you remembered before you got the whole word out,_ Nick thought better of saying aloud.  
  
For Astrid’s part, she seemed happy to respond only to what Curtis had actually said, rather than what he’d almost said.  
  
“Tempting,” she said dryly. “But I think I’m going to have to pass.”  
  
“You could at least pretend to think about it,” Curtis said, pouting.  
  
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Alright,” she said. She leaned forward, adopting a pose reminiscent of that statue by some sculptor Nick was sure he should know the name of, but couldn’t quite place. After a few moments of screwing her face up in a parody of deep thought, she sat back up again and shrugged. “After throughly considering your offer,” she told Curtis, her tone grave despite the way her eyes shone with mirth. “I’m afraid I must decline.”  
  
“Well, there’s no need for mockery,” Curtis said, huffily.  
  
“I don’t know,” Nick said airily. “Seemed to me like there was every need.”  
  
Curtis shot Nick a sourly offended look. “What is this?” he asked. “Army brats sticking together? Brockton Bay-ite — Bay-ian? Brocktonite? — Brocktonian solidarity?”  
  
“Something like that,” Nick drawled. Astrid, who had once more adopted a carefully blank expression, said nothing. He took a breath, felt the questions bubble up again from where they’d been lurking ever since he first set eyes on her and, without really intending to, opened his mouth to let one of them out. “While we’re on the subject, how is the old place, anyway?” he asked, his tone casual despite the way his heart lurched suddenly in his chest.  
  
The look Astrid turned on him was searching, scrutinising, and he was suddenly very glad that her power didn’t include any way of figuring out what was going through his head. Not that he really knew what was going through his own head right now. It was all kind of… muddled. But now he’d asked, now he’d actually spoken the words out loud, he actually felt the chaotic storm inside him start to calm a little. Like he’d placed his bet, and the only thing he could do now was wait for the wheel to stop spinning.  
  
 _Christ. Dramatic, much? Marlene would laugh herself sick._  
  
After what felt like a lifetime, but couldn’t have been more than moments, Astrid shrugged. “Still the same fucking scabrous, septic cesspit I’m sure it was when you were last there,” she said acidly, her face twisting into an expression of disgust.  
  
For a still, silent moment, everyone just stared at Astrid. And then, without meaning to, Nick started to laugh. Astrid glared at him, flushing, her face a mask of utter fury. Her hands spasmed like she only just stopped herself from clenching them into fists, and he should probably be worried about that, but the laughter just made it too hard to actually care right now; filling him up until there was no room for anything else, and he couldn’t help but let it out.  
  
“Don’t be shy, Astrid. Tell us what you really feel.” Yas’ sharp-edged amusement cut right across Nick’s quiet laughter, pulling him out of his own head and giving him something else to focus on.  
  
(Distantly, he registered that Yas and Kieran must have finished the Very Serious Discussion they’d been having at the other side of the room. He made a mental note to ask Melanie to try to find out from Yas what it had been about.)  
  
He glanced up to see Yas standing there with her hands on her hips, head tilted, practically smirking at Astrid, who’d now turned that fierce glare on her. Kieran, in the process of leaning over to snag a piece of uneaten naan bread from amongst the containers and plates strewn across the desk they’d appropriated as a dining table, looked over with an expression of concern, opening his mouth to speak. Vincent also seemed to be on the verge of saying something, and Kimberly was also starting to issue a completely unnecessary warning, but Nick choked back his laughter and got there first.  
  
“I’m sorry, Astrid,” he said, and her attention snapped back to him so fast he was almost surprised not to hear an audible crack. “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just…” _What? It’s just what?_ He wasn’t even sure he could properly explain why he’d found her response so hilarious, so he temporised instead, rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “That was spoken like a true resident of Brockton **fucking** Bay.” A soft sigh escaped his lips, and it was as if the last traces of his helpless amusement were carried away with the exhaled breath. “I’m not entirely sure why I asked about the place. It’s not like I miss it.”  
  
(‘You never could lie worth a damn,’ Marlene’s voice drawled in the back of his mind. He ignored her. ’You’ve never been great at that, either.’)  
  
Astrid’s features relaxed into a slightly awkward-looking half-smile, her cheeks flushing a little as she settled back in her chair. “I wasn’t trying to be funny,” she said, a little uncertainly. “You asked and I answered. That’s all.”  
  
“You feeling alright, man?” Curtis asked him quietly, frowning as he studied him. “You don’t normally get quite so…” He waved one hand vaguely as he searched for the right word. “Giggly,” he finished.  
  
Nick settled his features into his flattest, most unimpressed look; the one he used — the one he had used — to impress upon the new recruits just how little they actually knew.  
  
“Those weren’t giggles,” he pronounced, with as much dignity as he could scrape together. “They were… manly chuckles.”  
  
Yas snorted. “It sounded like giggling to me,” she said, smirking. “Don’t you think so? Melanie? Kieran?”  
  
“Maybe there was a tiny little hint of a giggle about it,” Melanie said, her eyes dancing with laughter that she only kept inside by dint of biting her lip.  
  
“I’m staying out of this one,” Kieran said firmly, sitting down with his spoils. (The bread, assorted sauces and chutneys, plus something involving potatoes.) “Managerial privilege.”  
  
“I couldn’t possibly comment,” Eliot said quietly, although even he seemed to have to make an effort to keep from smiling.  
  
“I’m sure giggles can be manly, Nick,” Vincent said consolingly.  
  
“They sounded more like chuckles to me,” Astrid chimed in, unexpectedly. Her smile became a little more natural as Nick stared at her in surprise.  
  
“Well, I’m glad at least one person here is on my side,” he murmured, making himself smile back at her. The other thing he wanted to ask was right on the tip of his tongue, but he hesitated; not because he wanted to leave it unasked, but because he was uncomfortably aware of everyone else around them. And it really didn’t help that he was having to talk across Vincent. Still, that problem, at least, had a solution. “Hey, Vincent,” he said. “Mind shifting over a bit?”  
  
“No, not at all,” Vincent said affably, standing up. With a bit of shuffling around, a little bit of musical-chairs-without-the-music, a bit of strategic rearrangement — Eliot seized the opportunity to retreat altogether, settling himself in a corner with his tablet — Nick managed to manoeuvre himself next to Astrid. (Unlike Vincent, though, he was careful not to block off her exfil route.)  
  
Quietly, Kieran started making conversation with the others. Nick privately blessed the man for what he was pretty damn sure was a deliberate attempt to run interference, making a mental note to buy his boss a drink at the next available opportunity. And, before he could change his mind, he steeled himself, turned to Astrid and asked: “Just out of curiosity, have you met many members of the BB PRT at all?”  
  
She went still, the curious expression fading from her face until all that was left was a kind of guarded wariness. “Some,” she said, cautiously. “Do you want to know about someone in particular?”  
  
He nodded slowly, running through the list in his head, trying to figure out who she’d actually had a decent chance of actually running into. “Nightingale and Sparrow?”  
  
Astrid frowned. “Is Nightingale Captain Cavendish?” she asked. “If so, then I have met him. He was the duty officer who processed my initial intake. I’m afraid I don’t know who Sparrow is, though.”  
  
With a start, Nick realised what he’d done.  
  
“Sorry,” he said. “Meant to use their names, not their old callsigns.” He shrugged. “Old habits die hard.”  
  
“I get that,” she said softly and, unlike the countless other times someone expressed similar sentiments to him, he actually believed it. She didn’t smile, but some of the wariness seemed to fade a little.  
  
“Sparrow is Carrie Lysowski,” he explained. He tried to figure out what rank she’d likely be now, but Astrid was already speaking.  
  
“I haven’t met her, but I know she’s one of the duty officers for the PRT building. I believe that may be a recent promotion, though.”  
  
Nick’s chest felt tight and warm at the same time, happiness at Lysowski’s success warring with bitterness that it wasn’t him; that it wouldn’t be him.  
  
(The thing that really cut him to the quick, though, was the knowledge that it still could have been him, even after he’d… Even after what had happened to him. Even without field work, that still left plenty of options. And it wasn’t as though the PRT wouldn’t have made allowances. They looked after their own, and God knew he’d earned a little consideration. But, in the end, for the sake of his own sanity more than anything else, he’d made the choice to walk away from it all.)  
  
(So to speak.)  
   
“Good,” he said, nodding briskly. “She deserves it.” He was about to ask how Cav was doing these days when a question popped into his mind. “Hey, how come you know Cav’s old callsign?” he asked. “I know for a fact he wants to keep that under wraps.” A sudden rush of uncertainty made him add: “Or, at least, he did.”  
  
When Nick had been transferred to Brockton Bay, one of the first things he’d done was look up Cav and Lysowski. The three of them had reminisced about old times, of course; back when Nick and Lysowski had been under Cav’s command. When the subject of his old callsign had come up — as it pretty much inevitably did after a few drinks — he’d made it very clear that terrible things would happen to them if they ever told the story to anyone else.  
  
The threat might have been more intimidating if he hadn’t been laughing at the time, but Nick and Lysowski had agreed anyway. He’d asked, and they owed him. It had been that simple.  
  
(Point of fact, Cav was one of the reasons why he’d agreed to the transfer in the first place. That and, well, Brockton Bay had seemed like the kind of place where he could actually make a difference. By all accounts, they certainly seemed to need the extra manpower.)  
  
“I’m pretty sure that’s still the case,” Astrid said, a smile in her eyes if not quite on her lips. “One of the PRT soldiers brought it up. Seraph, uh, Marlene Serafinowicz.” She actually did smile now, albeit tentatively. “Captain Cavendish seemed quite put out, especially when she claimed she knew the story behind it. She didn’t share that with the rest of us, though.”  
  
There were a few things that came to mind on the heels of that revelation, but what he actually ended up saying was:  
  
“You know Marlene?” His voice came out soft and kind of stunned-sounding; barely even recognisable as his. He hadn’t decided yet whether to even ask if Astrid had met her. After all, what were the odds, really? Except… apparently the answer to that was: good enough.  
  
“I wouldn’t say I know her, exactly,” Astrid said, eyeing him askance. “I’ve only met her once.” She hesitated briefly, and then added: “I ended up sharing a table with her, Captain Cavendish and a soldier called Murphy in the canteen the other day.”  
  
“Murphy? You mean Jinx?”  
  
“Seraph called him that, but he prefers Murphy.”  
  
“Of course he does,” Nick murmured, his lips curving into a grin despite himself. “That’s half the reason she keeps doing it.”  
  
“Only half?” Astrid asked, sounding amused.  
  
“Well, let’s just say, Jinx isn’t exactly an inappropriate moniker.” He shook his head. “Poor guy has the worst luck sometimes. A popular theory around the base is that the ‘Murphy’s Law’ Murphy must be one of his ancestors.” Perhaps it was the bittersweet sting of nostalgia that drove him to add: “Marlene tried to stick me with Prince, but it never really caught on. Good thing, too.”  
  
Astrid tilted her head quizzically. “Prince?”  
  
He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Something about being military royalty. And being 2IC of our squad.”  
  
“You were all on the same squad?” she asked.  
  
He nodded. “Not Cav — he’d already moved up by that point — but Marlene and Jinx, yeah. Lysowski was our squad leader.” And Mills had rounded out their number.  
  
(Poor, brave Mills. He always did have more balls than brains. The sensible to do — the sane thing to do — would have been to bug out. But Mills had never been one for doing the sensible thing.)  
  
Astrid’s lips pursed a little as she studied him, her brows drawing together fractionally. “You call her Marlene. Not Seraph,” she said carefully. Not technically a question. Technically.  
  
Nick supposed it would be hypocritical to resent her using that tactic on him.  
  
“She always did prefer Seraph,” he said. “And if she was trying to stick me with a name I hated, it seemed only fair to do the same to her.” Which was technically true, at least as far as it went. But he was definitely not prepared to discuss the complicated mess that was him and Marlene. And emphatically not with a teenager. _My own stupid fault for bringing her up, I guess._ Partly as a distraction, and partly out of curiosity, he asked: “How come you ended up sharing a table with those three, anyway?”  
  
She stiffened a little, and he wondered if he’d touched on something sensitive, but his earbud remained silent and, after a moment or two, she answered.  
  
“The canteen was crowded,” she said. “There weren’t any spare tables. Captain Cavendish spotted me wandering around with my tray and called me over. They had a spare seat, so he invited me to join them.”  
  
That certainly sounded like Cav.  
  
“How’s the canteen food these days?” he asked.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “It varies. It’s all been at least edible, though.” Her expression and voice grew more animated as she continued: “The desserts are excellent, though, especially the rhubarb crumble. And the cooked breakfasts are definitely worth queuing up for.” The look in her eyes was positively dreamy as she enthused: “Whoever fries their bacon really knows what they’re doing.”  
  
 _Don’t laugh,_ he told himself, sternly. _It’ll only piss her off._  
  
It was a struggle, but somehow he managed to keep his amusement inside. He had a feeling his eyes were sparkling, but Astrid fortunately didn’t seem to notice.  
  
“You eat there a lot, huh?” he asked, immediately regretting the question when the animation drained from her face, leaving behind a kind of bleak wariness in its wake.  
  
“I spend a lot of time in the PRT building,” she said shortly. Her jaw tensed, briefly, as if she was clenching her teeth, but then she relaxed again with what seemed like an effort. “There’s a lot of training to get through.”  
  
“I get that,” he murmured, wondering what had prompted her reaction. Then again, it wasn’t exactly unusual for recent triggers to be a little all over the place, emotionally speaking, and shutting down was hardly the worst reaction he’d ever seen. “So, how come it was so crowded in the canteen, anyway?” he asked, figuring that, at least, should be a relatively safe topic. “Is the bacon really that good?”  
  
“It really is,” she said, a small smile briefly flickering over her face, before her expression turned grave. Not the wariness or the studied blankness he’d seen before; this was more the seriousness of someone about to deliver bad news. It was an expression he’d seen more times than he cared to remember. His gut was already clenching with that old, familiar tension, his heart thudding in his chest even before she continued. “But the reason it was so crowded was because there’d been a major operation the previous night and the after-action wrap-up was still ongoing.”  
  
There was sympathy in her eyes, and that alone told him the answer to his next question even though he went ahead and asked it anyway.  
  
“Casualties?”  
  
“Yes,” she said simply, bluntly. “But I’m afraid I don’t know who or how many.”  
  
There were reasons why he’d cut off contact completely; why he’d resisted the temptation to check up Brockton Bay. Why he kept away from sites like PHO. He couldn’t always avoid hearing things, of course. This was a parahuman testing and research facility, after all; an interest in capes pretty much came with the territory, and people did like to talk about the things that interested them. But, by and large, he’d kept his distance mentally as well as physically.  
  
(Although he’d still come here, to Northeast, whose catchment area included Brockton Bay, rather than to one of the other facilities. Honestly, he’d never even considered applying to one of the others. He didn’t want to think about what that meant.)  
  
There were reasons, and they were good reasons, but now…  
  
Now he regretted every single one of them.  
  
“Tell me what happened.”  
  
Astrid sat up straight in her chair, shoulders back and chin up, practically at attention, and he only belatedly realised that he’d barked the words out like a command; like an order.  
  
“I don’t know how much I’m allowed to say, Sir,” she said crisply.  
  
Guilt clawed at his throat then, turning his voice hoarse. “I’m not in your chain of command, Astrid. You don’t have to Sir me.”  
  
Not that the Wards were generally required to Sir or Ma’am anyone, as far as he knew, but putting it in terms of chain of command just seemed simpler.  
  
Astrid went still for a moment, and then relaxed ever so slightly, giving an awkward shrug. “Like you said: old habits die hard.”  
  
 _I bet that’s a habit Director Piggot approves of,_ he couldn’t help thinking.  
  
“Anyway,” he said, as gently as he could. “I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what you can about the operation.”  
  
She nodded, and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Despite the apparent attempt to calm herself, her jaw still tensed, her eyes glinting and her voice taking on a knife-sharp edge. “It was the fucking Empire,” she ground out. “Multiple targets; hit and run tactics. Forced the PRT to engage mastered civilians without confoam.” Almost under her breath, she added: “Motherfuckers.”  
  
“Copy that,” Nick murmured with feeling, distractedly thinking: _She’s certainly foulmouthed enough to be a soldier._ Astrid’s response certainly answered some questions, but it raised a whole bunch of others. “Anything else you can say?”  
  
“I… don’t know.” She looked conflicted. “I do know some of the specifics, but Aegis ordered us to keep it within the team. If you were PRT, I guess it would be okay, but…”  
  
“But I’m not,” he finished. Not in the way she meant, anyway, and he tried to tell himself that didn’t cause a spike of something that couldn’t possibly be regret to slide all the way though his chest.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said.  
  
He shrugged, feeling his scars pull again as one side of his mouth twisted up in a wry grin, this time without him making a deliberate choice to do so. “No apology necessary. Thanks for telling me what you could.” At least now he knew to look. And he had a few ideas about where to start looking.  
  
“Captain Cavendish, Seraph and Murphy all seemed unhurt,” Astrid said, her soft voice breaking into his thoughts. “And, as far as I know, Lysowski remained in the PRT base.”  
  
He had the weirdest feeling of déjà vu as he nodded in acknowledgement of the information, feeling the tightness in his chest ease just a fraction.  
  
“Thanks,” he said.  
  
She nodded back, her brow furrowing thoughtfully. “You could always… contact them,” she said, cautiously.  
  
 _If only it was that simple…_  
  
“It’s… been a while,” was what he found himself saying out loud. Forcing his tone to stay light and casual, he added: “Not sure they’d even remember me now.”  
  
Somehow, he was unsurprised when Astrid gave him a deeply sceptical look. The lie had been bad enough that he doubted it would have convinced a kindergartener, let alone a highschooler. He wasn’t, however, expecting the clear reproach in her eyes.  
  
“You were on the same squad,” she said, flatly. “You saw action together. No one forgets that kind of bond.”  
  
Nick supposed he couldn’t really argue with that, but neither did he particularly want to discuss it, so he just gave a careless shrug, and said: “Well, if you see them around, maybe you can tell them I said hi.”  
  
“I’ll do that,” she said gravely. It sounded uncomfortably like a promise. But before he could even decide whether he wanted to tell her to forget it, there was movement in his peripheral vision as Kieran got to his feet and cleared his throat.  
  
“Mind if I butt in?” he asked, sounding apologetic.  
  
“Not at all,” Nick drawled, not sure if he was relieved or disappointed at the interruption.  
  
“Is it time for the next test?” Astrid asked, sounding positively eager.  
  
“Yes,” Kieran said, and, to Nick’s eyes, the smile he gave her seemed almost fond. “If you’ve finished your dinner, that is.”  
  
“I’m finished,” she said. Getting to her feet, she glanced around at the debris on the table and, a little uncertainly, asked: “Should I help to clear up first?”  
  
“Nah, we’ve got it,” Yas told her, waving a hand lazily. “You’re good.”  
  
“Good luck down there,” Vincent told her, smiling. “Not that you’ll need it.”  
  
“Thanks,” Astrid said. She stacked her containers neatly on the table and turned to Nick. “It was good talking with you,” she said quietly.  
  
“You too,” he said, a little surprised to realise that he meant it. “I guess I’ll see you on the testing floor when Melanie’s done with you.”  
  
The grin Astrid gave him then was fierce, maybe even feral; reminding him all over again — as if he needed the reminder — that she was a cape. A walking W-as yet unspecified-D.  
  
“Looking forward to it,” she said.  
  
“Me too,” he replied.  
  
He wasn’t even surprised to realise that he meant that, as well.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

_It’s going to be fine,_ Kieran told himself, trying to shake the threads of apprehension that coiled around his thoughts and clustered like cobwebs in the corners of his mind. _Psych wouldn’t have given the go-ahead if they thought there were going to be any major problems._  
  
The powers evaluation might have been part stress test, after all, but it wasn’t supposed to be a destruction test. Psych knew what they were doing. They’d been running cape evaluations for years. Kieran’s misgivings aside, they must have had a reasonably good idea of how hard they could push. Nevertheless, the worry kept finding ways to wriggle in through the cracks, distracting him from the here and now.  
  
All in all, it was probably a good thing that Melanie seemed more than happy to take point during this batch of tests.  
  
“That’s excellent work, Astrid!” she was saying now, looking for all the world like she was a hair’s breadth away from giving Astrid a hug. Melanie was a fairly huggy kind of person in general. The no-contact rule must have been pretty hard on her. “Now, if you can please try this next one…”  
  
A few samples later, Kieran found himself drawn in despite himself. Not that he’d managed to banish his concerns completely, but it was a damn sight easier not to be distracted by them when there was a puzzle like this to focus on.  
  
“So, maybe it’s a density thing, not a phase thing,” he murmured.  
  
“It’s starting to look that way,” Melanie agreed.  
  
Astrid nodded somewhat distractedly, her attention clearly focused on the two sample containers she was touching. One was open and one was closed.  
  
“I just wish I understood why I can sense the contents of a closed container, but not an open one,” she murmured, frowning. “It just seems like such an arbitrary distinction.”  
  
“That’s powers for you,” Melanie said, sympathetically. “I mean, when you think about it, ‘objects’ seems to be a fairly arbitrary distinction to make by itself.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” Astrid sighed, her shoulders slumping a little as she frowned with what looked like annoyance. “I mean, water pipes are continuous, right? So why can’t I sense them when they pass beyond the bounds of the building? It’s just like… Like they’re inside a strong magnetic field, I guess. Like they don’t even exist to my power. I’ve been meaning to test whether it makes a difference if I touch the taps or pipes directly while focusing on the water system as an object, rather than the building, but I thought I should probably work on building up my tolerance before giving it a try. Because I don’t even have the first fucking clue what my range might be, and the last thing I want to do is give myself an aneurysm by accidentally trying to map out the whole city’s water and sewerage system on a molecular level.” Kieran wasn’t entirely sure she was even breathing during that little monologue. Certainly, she seemed a little breathless by the time she broke off, shook her head and said: “Arbitrary? More like downright fucking capricious.”  
  
“Fascinating…” Melanie breathed.  
  
Astrid twitched a little at the sound of her voice, like she’d forgotten that she wasn’t alone here, and turned to  look at Kieran almost guiltily.  
  
“Sorry if I was rambling,” she muttered, flushing. “It’s just something that’s been bugging me.”  
  
“Please don’t apologise for that,” Kieran said firmly. “None of us here have any stones to cast in that regard, believe me.”  
  
“It’s true,” Melanie put in, smiling. “I ramble all the time, believe me, and you should hear Kieran when he gets an idea in his head. Right, Kieran?”  
  
“Right,” Kieran agreed. “Anyway, now we know about that feature of your power, we can figure out a way to test it relatively safely.” He tried very hard not to sound reproachful about the fact that Astrid hadn’t mentioned this before now, but from the way she stilled, he wasn’t entirely sure that he managed it. _Best just to move on,_ he decided. “Parts of the Range have been set up so we can adjust them on the fly,” he continued. “So if we make a closed loop that extends beyond the boundaries of a building, maybe put an air-gap around it just to be on the safe side…”  
  
“Then we see if you can switch focus to the pipework without risking an aneurysm!” Melanie finished. “See? Good things come from rambling.”  
  
“I guess,” Astrid mumbled. She still seemed a little troubled, but she returned Melanie’s smile. “So, what’s next? Are you turning me over to Nick now?”  
  
“Tired of my company already?” Melanie asked, mock-pouting.  
  
Astrid’s eyes widened with what looked like alarm, her blush deepening and spreading. “No, that’s not… I wasn’t saying… I mean, I’m just curious, that’s all. Because of the secrecy. I didn’t mean to offend. I just-“  
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Melanie said soothingly, and it was probably an act of mercy to interrupt the girl’s somewhat flustered stammering. “I’m not offended; I was just being ridiculous.”  
  
“Oh. Right.” Astrid looked thoroughly embarrassed. “So, um, what do you have planned for me now?”  
  
“Over to you, Kieran,” Melanie said.  
  
Astrid turned to him with an expectant look.  
  
“Okay,” he said. “First, the easy part. Can you tell me what that is?” He gestured to the lump of metal set out on the next bench over.  
  
Astrid touched it obediently. “Palladium,” she said, confidently.  
  
“Good,” he said. “And that?” He gestured to the item next to it.  
  
“It’s a catalytic converter,” she said instantly, without even touching it, and then shrugged a little stiffly. “Sorry. I know a little bit about cars.”  
  
“That’s fine,” he assured her. “That’s not really part of the test. What I’d like you to do is see if you can identify the palladium within it. Okay?”  
  
`She nodded, and placed her fingertips on the object, her gaze turning distant. “Okay,” she said, after a few moments. “I have it.”  
  
“That’s great,” he said, pleased. “Now for the tricky part. I’d like you to try to separate the palladium from the other materials. You don’t have to get all of it, and it I’m not too bothered if you end up breaking the converter — it’s basically scrap anyway. We had a bunch of them lying around from a previous project. Any questions?”  
  
“Am I allowed to use the palladium sample as a reference?” she asked.  
  
“Yes, of course,” he said, a little surprised that she’d even ask. “Begin whenever you’re ready.”  
  
She nodded, placing her other hand on the palladium, her expression one of intense concentration. As Kieran watched, the surface of the converter rippled and peeled back, a thin, silvery-white filament emerging to twine around one of Astrid’s fingers like a tiny vine.  
  
“That’s so cool.” Melanie spoke in a hushed voice, almost breathing the words, as if she was afraid of disturbing Astrid.  
  
“I know,” Kieran whispered back.  
  
There was a quiet cracking sound from inside the converter, and Astrid winced. “Sorry,” she muttered. “There’s more in there, but it’s getting tricky to separate it without causing damage.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Kieran said, beaming at her. “That’s great, in fact. Proof of concept, remember?”  
  
Astrid frowned, and for a moment he thought she was going to argue with him; to ask if she could keep going, as she had previously. But she just sighed and nodded.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, surprising him. _Perhaps Yas’ little talk did have an effect, after all._  
  
“Can you make it move?” Melanie asked, leaning forward to peer at the small amount of metal that Astrid had extracted.  
  
“Of course,” Astrid said, smiling at her. The palladium flowed over the skin of her hand, tracing out increasingly intricate patterns.  
  
“Really cool,” Melanie said, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
Astrid blushed, but Kieran thought she seemed pleased, in an embarrassed kind of way. “Thanks,” she said, shyly.  
  
“Alright,” he said, finding a smile on his own lips at the sight of Astrid actually looking happy. “Let’s move on…”


	9. Chapter 9

_**Nick** _

 

Nick took a series of slow, deep breaths, running through the mental exercises that helped him get into the right headspace for the task at hand. By this point, he thought he could probably do this in his sleep. He didn’t even need the biofeedback monitors any more; knew he’d hit his mark even before the telltales went green. Then, and only then, he could begin.  
  
(The irony, of course, was that he’d never particularly been good at meditation exercises. ‘Too much going on upstairs,’ Marlene had always joked, rapping him lightly — and, sometimes, not-so-lightly — on the head. He just hadn’t known how to shut off. Apparently, though, all he’d needed was the right motivation.)  
  
More by muscle memory than by conscious command, he twitched the gloved fingers of his right hand in the specific sequence that would activate the neural interface. The display on the inside of his helmet flickered to life, as did the various sensors, electrodes and other devices liberally festooning both him and the helmet. At the same time, his nerves shivered with the ghostly sensation of something settling over him; enfolding him. Like a well-worn, familiar garment slipping over his shoulders and moulding itself around him from head to toe. The first few times he’d done this, before he’d found a proper balance, it had felt suffocating; overwhelming. Now, though? Now, it was almost comforting.  
  
There was a moment of disorientation as, even with the mental exercises, even with the focus and the familiarity, two conflicting sets of signals competed for his attention.  
  
He was sitting in his wheelchair in a small room just off the testing floor that had been cleared for this purpose, his head enclosed in a helmet that cut off all visual and auditory input that wasn’t delivered by its inbuilt screen and speakers.  
  
He was standing upright on the testing floor, eyes front and arms by his sides, the pressure of the support frame gripping his head, neck, shoulders and waist.  
  
Inhale. Exhale.  
  
_Synchronise._  
  
It felt almost like falling, briefly; a moment of vertigo that twisted his gut and plucked at his inner ear. And then the moment passed, and he/they was/were standing on the testing floor. He/they turned his/their head from side to side as much as the frame would allow, flexed his/their hands.  
  
_So far, so good._  
  
“Initial sync looks good,” he said, his voice echoing strangely as it emerged from his throat and from his/their voice box simultaneously, the latter fed back to him through his helmet speakers. “Ready to disengage support frame.”  
  
“Disengaging support frame in three,” came Hugh’s quiet voice. “Three, two, one; mark.”  
  
The pressure on his/their head, neck, shoulders and waist vanished as the clamps retracted, leaving him/them to support his/their own weight.  
  
_Second hurdle passed,_ he thought, pleased. Not that he’d been expecting problems, but it was good when everything worked as expected. Especially when maintenance and repair had been something of a rush job.  
  
He/they moved out onto the testing floor, taking a moment to adjust to the change from hard concrete to springy foam rubber before striding out into the centre of the mat, when he/they settled into a balanced stance. Feet shoulder width apart, knees slightly bent, weight on the balls of his/their feet; ready to move.  
  
(If it wasn’t for the fact that he was still aware of his actual body, sitting there like a useless lump in the chair that he sometimes honestly hated, he might have been able to pretend that everything was normal again. He might have been able to pretend that he’d never been… Never had his… What? Not accident, not really. Calling it an accident would have mean that it was no one’s fault, and that sure as shit wasn’t true. It was an act of cape, not an act of God. But it hadn’t exactly been deliberate, either. He hadn’t been a target, not really.)  
  
(No, what’d he’d been was **collateral**.)  
  
(That almost made it worse.)  
  
(But those were exactly the kinds of thoughts he wasn’t supposed to be dwelling on, especially not now.)  
  
(Now, he had a job to do.)  
  
“Beginning system check and calibrations,” he said, barely even waiting for Hugh’s soft acknowledgement before starting to move.  
  
It was a rush, as always; the thrill of being able to stand, to move. To feel. It didn’t even matter than it wasn’t real. And it certainly didn’t matter that the last one of the three was largely illusory. He just got caught up in the moment. Even knowing what he knew, knowing how it worked, knowing how his brain was being misled — and the human brain, for all its sophistication, really could be remarkably easy to fool sometimes — he still felt almost giddy with exhilaration. Which, of course, was at least part of the reason for the calibration routine. As well as giving them the opportunity to discover any problems with the tech, it also allowed the operator to take a few minutes to get their head in the game. Not that anyone ever phrased it that way.  
  
Idly, he wondered if anyone else — anyone who could already do all those miraculous things he used to take for granted — had the same issue, but he was pretty damn sure he wasn’t going to ask.  
  
Anyway, he had other things to occupy his attention right now.  
  
“Initial checks show green across the board,” he reported. “Moving onto to phase two.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“How’s it going over here? Are you almost ready?” Melanie’s voice seemed to come from a great distance. Nick, the bulk of his attention focused on the last batch of calibrations, left the others to answer her question.  
  
“We’re nearly done,” Hugh said. “Nick’s just running the final checks now.”  
  
There was more conversation, but Nick tuned it out. He extended his/their arms to the side and rotated his/their wrists, flexing his/their fingers, noting with satisfaction that the patch job on his/their left elbow seemed to be holding up well. They’d perform a proper repair once this evaluation was over, of course, but there just hadn’t been time to do as thorough job as they would have liked. Still, that couldn’t be helped. Presumably Psych hadn’t known that Astrid’s injuries had been healed until she’d actually arrived this morning; maybe not even until her medical examination.  
  
(He wondered, again — in a distant corner of his mind, as the bulk of his attention was still largely on his task — exactly how she’d gotten ‘a little banged up.’ And how much of an understatement her summation really was. Alas, Kimberly would undoubtedly have a conniption if he just up and asked.)  
  
He/they twisted from side to side and bent to touch his/their toes a couple of times. Straightening again, he/they lifted first one leg and then the other, bending his/their knees and bringing them up as close to his/their chest as he could get them without risking an undignified sprawl.  
  
_Proprioceptive feedback definitely back to optimal levels,_ he was relieved to note. He emphatically did not want a repeat of that weird and as-yet unexplained glitch they’d run into a few weeks ago. The haptic and positional inputs had been just a tiny little bit off; not enough for him to really pin down what was wrong, but more than enough to make him feel seriously queasy after running through a few training drills. (He’d never particularly suffered from motion sickness before — thankfully — and if that was what it was like, he emphatically never wanted to. It had been pretty damn unpleasant.) They still hadn’t managed to identify the cause, but performing a complete overhaul of the interface seemed to have fixed it, at least for now.  
  
There were problems with being your own guinea pig.  
  
On the other hand, there were fucking *awesome* benefits.  
  
The last few calibrations complete, he toggled the HUD from ‘calibration’ mode to ‘active’ mode, leaving the bulk of his/their field of vision clear.  
  
“Calibrations complete,” he said, turning to face Hugh, who was ensconced behind an equipment laden bench at one side of the room. “Everything looks good from this end. What about you?”  
  
“Green across the board,” Hugh confirmed.  
  
“Let me take a look at that arm,” Joy said. Without waiting for a reply, she kicked off her shoes and scurried across the mat towards him/them.  
  
Nick rolled his eyes — and his/their eyes, as much as he/they could — but didn’t object, obediently pushing up his/their sleeve and holding up the limb in question so she could prod at it, frowning.  
  
“It seems fine as far as I can tell,” he said.  
  
“Hmm,” she said, noncommittally. “Bend the elbow and hold it.” He did so. “Okay,” she said, a few moments later. “Now straighten it out again.”  
  
“It’ll hold, Joy,” he said, reaching out to put his/their other hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry so much. You do good work, even when you have to rush.”  
  
“Thanks,” she said, her face briefly lighting up with a smile before the frown took hold again. “I suppose it probably will hold,” she allowed, albeit grudgingly. “But I’m not happy with the join. It would have been better if we’d had time to properly integrate the epidermal patch. Ideally, of course, we’d re-sleeve the whole arm, but…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Needs must, I suppose.”  
  
“Isn’t that pretty much our group’s motto?” Nick quipped.  
  
“Something like that,” she said, her eyes glinting with amusement as she gave him/them a lopsided grin. Catching sight of movement in his/their peripheral vision, Nick glanced around as Melanie approached the edge of the mat.  
  
“What’s the verdict?” she asked.  
  
Joy shrugged. “It’ll do,” she pronounced.  
  
“Guess that means we’re good to go,” Nick said.  
  
“Great!” Melanie said, beaming. “Can I go and let Kieran know he can bring Astrid down?”  
  
“Sure,” Nick said.  
  
Melanie’s smile turned a little sly. “I can’t wait to see her reaction.” On that note, she sped off towards the stairs.  
  
“I’d better get out of the way then,” Joy said. “Have fun, and try not to get Bob smacked around too badly this time.”  
  
“You know that part’s not exactly up to me,” he drawled. “But I’ll do my best.”  
  
Hugh was waiting at the edge of the mat for Joy, holding out up her shoes. As she took them from him and slipped them back on, he said something that made her laugh, but Nick wasn’t paying attention. As he/they waved goodbye to the two of them, he disengaged his helmet microphone. He didn’t want Bob relaying his next words.  
  
“Kimberly,” he said quietly. “Nick here. Anything I should know before Astrid gets here?”  
  
“You must have read my mind, Nick,” Kimberly replied through the helmet comms, a smile in her voice. “I was just about to contact you.” Before he could say anything to that, she continued in a brisk tone. “Two things, really. First, I’m given to understand that Astrid has had some manner of previous combat training, possibly extensive. I’m afraid I don’t have any more details.”  
  
“Copy that,” he murmured, entirely unsurprised. “And the second thing?”  
  
“Please avoid anything involving contact with her throat. She’s likely to react badly.”  
  
“I guess I won’t be trying any chokeholds, then,” he murmured, wondering what exactly ‘reacting badly’ involved.  
  
“Please don’t,” Kimberly said swiftly.  
  
“I won’t,” he assured her, pushing his curiosity back down as best as he could. “Anything else?”  
  
“Nothing else relevant at this time,” she said, which could mean anything from ‘no, there’s nothing,’ all the way to ‘there is, but we want to see what happens when you find out the hard way.’ Not that he was the cynical sort. In any event, Kimberly continued speaking before he could say something he’d probably regret. “Anyway, I believe Kieran and Astrid are on their way down, so I will leave you to it. Goodbye for now.”  
  
“Goodbye,” he said absently, turning over those nuggets of information she’d shared with him.  
  
_Well,_ he thought, as he reactivated his microphone. _Maybe that means we’ll get a proper workout after all._  
  
Was it wrong that he was looking forward to that?

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Kieran_ **

 

With each step, it felt like Kieran’s chest got tighter and tighter. He was painfully conscious of Astrid striding easily — trustingly — along at his side, obediently not pressing him for answers. Not doing so despite the fact that curiosity about what was awaiting her on the testing floor this time must surely have been eating away at her. He knew it would have been if he’d been in her shoes. Even now, he doubted he would have been unable to stop himself from asking questions, no matter how many times he was told not to. Back when he was her age, there was no force on earth that could have shut him up if there was something he wanted to know. But, since he’d headed her off when she asked Nick about his speciality, she hadn’t raised the subject again.  
  
Well, she was going to find out soon enough.  
  
He took a deep, theoretically calming breath, absently pulling out a red liquorice twist from his shirt pocket and chewing on the end.  
  
_It’s going to be fine,_ he told himself, again, trying to push away the dread and the worry that kept needling and clawing at him. (Not to mention the guilt he just couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how much he told himself that this evaluation was going to be help Astrid. Even if parts of it may have been distressing in the short term.)  
  
But… he was overreacting. Of course he was overreacting. It was just that, regardless of her feelings on the matter, Astrid was so young. No matter how much he tried not to, he couldn’t help picturing one of his nieces or nephews in her place and, well, he worried.  
  
Things seemed so much simpler and easier when he dealt with adult capes.  
  
“Well, here we are,” he said, trying again — not unsuccessfully — to banish his misgivings. He gestured towards the figure waiting in the centre of the training mat. “Astrid, allow me to introduce Bob.”  
  
In response to his words, the humanoid figure twitched its mouth — it didn’t really have proper lips — into something like a smile. (In Kieran’s opinion, the overall effect was more than a little uncanny valley. Then again, realistic facial expressions weren’t exactly a priority for this model.) It also raised one hand in a wave. It was clad in fatigues very similar to the ones Astrid was wearing, plus a pair of sparring gloves, and its feet were bare. Astrid went still, her brows drawing together in a puzzled frown.  
  
“Bob?” she said, her voice uncertain.  
  
“That’s right,” Kieran said. He smiled, hoping none of his worry showed in his expression. “But I’m going let Nick explain. Take it away, Nick.”  
  
“Hey, Astrid.” Nick’s familiar drawl emerged from Bob’s mouth, which had thankfully stopped smiling. “Please take off your boots and socks, grab a pair of gloves from over there.” He pointed towards the rack of sparring gloves in various sizes that stood beside the door. “And join us on the mat.”  
  
With a glance at Kieran — who nodded encouragingly — Astrid did as Nick asked, quickly divesting herself of her footwear.  
  
“This is a combat test,” she murmured — a statement, rather than a question — checking the gloves until she found a pair that fit her.  
  
“That’s right,” Kieran said, since the time for secrecy was well and truly past. He was so busy hoping that she wouldn’t be too upset, that it was a moment before he registered that she was smiling. Well, grinning really; an expression that seemed almost… eager.  
  
As she strode determinedly onto the mat, she muttered something in a low, pleased voice; three words that drove whatever he’d been about to say right out of his head, so that all he could do was stand there, staring.  
  
“About damn time.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Nick** _

 

“Might want to close your mouth before you catch flies, Kieran,” Nick said, amused at the look of utter shock on his boss’ face. Much as he liked the guy, Kieran could be remarkably naive sometimes. Nick made a mental note to have a chat after they were done with the evaluation; perhaps over that drink that Nick owed him.  
  
Kieran shut his mouth with a clack of teeth, shaking his head bemusedly as he made his way over to the bench that Hugh had recently vacated, but the bulk of Nick’s attention was focused on Astrid. She bore down on him/them with that fierce, almost anticipatory expression, shifting into a ready position as she came to a halt a short distance away.  
  
_Good posture,_ he thought, approvingly.  
  
“So,” she said, studying him/them curiously. “Am I allowed to ask about your speciality now?”  
  
“Good a time as any,” he said. “Basically, my job here is to design and test neural interfaces. The project I’m working on is a joint venture between ETA, bioengineering and robotics.”  
  
“Bob is a robot,” she said.  
  
“Essentially yes,” he replied. “Remote operated.” He made his/their mouth twist in a smile that, for all its apparent creepiness, still felt a damn sight more comfortable than the same expression on his own lips these days. “Means I can spar without even having to leave the comfort of my chair.”  
  
Astrid’s gaze sharpened, her own smile twisting into the same wryly cynical expression she’d worn earlier, when she’d observed that the surprise was probably part of the test.  
  
“And, this way, you don’t risk someone getting hurt if a new cape’s powers go out of control.”  
  
“Pretty much,” he said, seeing no particular reason to lie to her. “Plus, trying Bob out against a variety of opponents lets us gather data that helps us refine the tech and the software. So, two for the price of one.”  
  
“Smart,” she said. It wasn’t clear which part she meant. Before he could ask, she asked: “So, how does a soldier end up designing neural interfaces?” A beat later, she winced and added: “If you don’t mind me asking.”  
  
“It’s a fair question,” he allowed. “I majored in biomedical engineering at college. So, after I got benched, I figured I might as well get some use out of it.” Not that he’d ever really expected to use his major at all. Well, his second major. After all, as they said at West Point: ‘The military is your major.’ Which was kind of ironic, considering how things had shaken out for a lot of them come graduation time. But, like he’d said to his dad all those years ago, the world — and the military — had changed. “Right,” he said briskly. “There are some ground rules we need to go over, and then we’ll get on with it. Feel free to ask questions at any point. Okay?”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” she said, quietly, and then grimaced. “I mean: yes.”  
  
_She wasn’t kidding about that being a habit,_ he mused. Still, there was no point in making a big deal about it.  
  
“First,” he said. “No power use. Will that be a problem?”  
  
“No,” she said, but she frowned a little. After a moment’s hesitation, she added: “I can’t turn off the sensory aspect of my power completely, but I can refrain from using it actively.”  
  
“Good enough,” he said. “You’ll get to show off what you can do with your abilities later, but for this part, we just want to get an idea of your basic self-defence skills.”  
  
And to see if she froze or freaked out when faced with a combat situation, of course, but somehow he didn’t think either of those were likely.  
  
“I understand,” she said. Her tone was serious, but there was still that glint of anticipation in her eyes.  
  
“Second,” he said. “You see the massive cable coming out of Bob’s back?” He/they gestured towards the thick braid of power and data cables leading to the support frame, where it separated into a series of smaller braids and individual cables that went onwards to their destinations. “That’s off-limits as a target.”  
  
They’d experimented with wireless data transmission but, honestly, despite the disadvantages, they needed the increased bandwidth afforded by the cables. And the external power source was the result of a combination of practicality and safety. Practicality, because an onboard power supply that was both safe and sufficiently lightweight was still a little beyond them without resorting to tinker tech, and no one really wanted to add more things to the maintenance schedule if they could help it. Safety, because the aim of the game was failsafe, not fail deadly. Anything with sufficient power density would, pretty much by necessity, have caustic, flammable and/or explosive components. If a cape damaged those… It didn’t bear thinking about.  
  
Plus, software glitches occasionally happened, and those could have unfortunate consequences if they happened in the middle of a sparring match. An external power supply made for a very effective killswitch.  
  
“Third,” he continued. “No trips, throws or takedown moves. Bob is still very much a work in progress, and getting him to his feet again is a royal pain in the ass.”  
  
“I’ll be careful,” she assured him.  
  
“Good,” he drawled. “Because Bob is not a cheap date, and you don’t want to find yourself stuck with a repair bill.”  
  
It was only when the words were out of his mouth that he recalled he was talking to a kid, not a fellow soldier. _Perhaps I should have phrased that a little differently,_ he thought, ruefully. However, Astrid didn’t seem at all fazed by the mildly off-colour humour, if she even noticed it at all.  
  
“If the tech is so expensive, why risk it on evaluations? Why not just have us run drills with training dummies?” she asked, frowning. “Although,” she muttered. “I guess a training dummy doesn’t hit back.” A beat later, as Nick took a moment to consider his response, she added, uncertainly: “If I do damage it, would I really be billed for repairs?”  
  
“It?” he said, mock-reproachfully. “Careful there; you’re going to hurt his feelings. And I think you’ve answered your own question regarding the why. But Bob’s actually pretty tough. Honestly, the chances of you doing any serious damage are fairly minimal.”  
  
At least without powers. With powers… Well, there was a reason why the evaluation protocol had very specific restrictions on when and how the parahumans being evaluated were allowed to really cut loose.  
  
“What about when you test brutes?” she asked. “No matter how sturdy Bob is, a sufficiently powerful brute could take…” She hesitated briefly, giving him/them a distinctly dubious expression. “Him… apart by accident.”  
  
“That’s why we ask them to try to rein it in,” he said. “You’re right, though, accidents do sometimes happen. But it’s better that they happen to Bob, despite how much of a pain in the ass it can be to fix him afterwards. And no, we never actually charge anyone for repairs; I was just kidding around. Don’t worry, your pocket money’s safe.”  
  
She gave him a sharp look — not quite a glare, but not far off — but all she said was: “Is there anything else I need to know?”  
  
“Just one more thing,” he said. “We’re going to start out easy and ramp up, but if you want to take it back down a notch at any point, or even stop altogether, just speak up, okay?”  
  
“Understood.” Her tone was flat, her expression largely neutral, although from the tension around her eyes and mouth, he’d wager he’d just pissed her off somewhat. _Well,_ he thought, philosophically. _Can’t be helped._ He was required to make sure she knew she had the option of calling a halt to proceedings, even though he’d bet dollars to doughnuts she wasn’t going to take him up on the offer.  
  
Even if he really put the pressure on.  
  
“Right. Any questions?”  
  
“Yes,” she said. “Are the gloves necessary?”  
  
He blinked, taken aback. What kind of fuckwitted instructor would let a teenager spar without gloves? Knuckles were important, dammit.  
  
“I think the powers that be would have some stern words with me if I let you bruise your hands or split your knuckles on Bob’s hide. So, yeah: the gloves are necessary. Don’t you-“ He broke off, frowning. “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”  
  
“No,” she blatantly lied. He had to give her props for steadily holding his/their gaze, although her cheeks took on a faint pink tinge. Before he could say anything further, though, she drew herself up and, in a brisk tone, asked: “Does Bob have pressure points, and do his joints have the same range of motion as a human’s?”  
  
“No to the first, but we’ll try to react appropriately if you go for where they should be,” he said, feeling a mixture of amusement, approval and curiosity. “Yes, more or less, to the second, with the caveat about takedowns.”  
  
She nodded sharply. “What level of force will we be using?”  
  
“Normal sparring force,” he said, wondering if he was going to have to explain that, as with the gloves. From the way she was frowning, he had a feeling that the answer to that question was yes.  
  
“Do you mean normal sparring force, or normal sparring force for Wards,” she asked, her mouth twisting in with something that he couldn’t quite identify, but could have easily been confusion or disgust. Maybe confused disgust? Disgusted confusion?  
  
“Is there a difference?” he asked, cautiously.  
  
She shrugged. “Apparently, Wards aren’t supposed to leave bruises when they spar,” she said, shaking her head, her expression now one of absolute bafflement.  
  
Kieran made the oddest noise, like he was choking.  
  
A nasty suspicion started taking hold in Nick’s mind. “Is that so? Who taught you how to fight?” he asked, keeping his voice calm and casual.  
  
“My father,” she said, matter of factly.  
  
He wondered if Astrid’s father had even served. In his experience, this kind of macho bullshit militarism tended to crop up most often in ‘hard men’ who didn’t have the first fucking clue what they were talking about. He made a mental note to pass that observation onto Psych when he had the chance.  
  
“Let’s stick with normal sparring force for Wards,” he said firmly, figuring that was probably the safest answer he could give.  
  
“Understood,” she said, and she seemed almost disappointed.  
  
He felt a brief violent urge towards Astrid’s father before shoving it aside so he could concentrate on his job. He had a combat skills assessment slash stress test to get on with, after all. Kimberly’s voice had been conspicuous by its absence, so he assumed that meant he was to proceed as planned.  
  
“Ready?” he asked, as he/they brought their arms up into a guard position, his tone deliberately brusque.  
  
Astrid mirrored his/their movements, shifting into a combat stance of her own. “Ready,” she confirmed, her lips curved in that tight, fierce smile, her eyes bright and eager.  
  
“Then lets begin.”  
  
Astrid was in motion almost before he’d finished speaking, taking the initiative with extreme prejudice; her fists snapping out in what, despite their aggression, he thought was probably supposed to be a series of probing attacks.  
  
_So much for starting out easy…_  
  
Skipping a few steps in his plan for ramping up, he moved to block and counter, adrenaline and muscle memory finally completing the process that the mental exercises had begun. Now, at last, it was he, him and his, not he/they, him/them and his/their. His arms blocking, his hands striking, his foot lashing out in a kick. (Illusion, he knew; his own mind simply filling in the gaps left by the technology; his own brain fooling itself. He knew that. It just wasn’t relevant in the here and now.) It wasn’t the same of course. For all their advances, all their tech and programming and expertise, Bob still felt clumsy and ungainly in comparison to his own body — or, at least, his body as it used to be — but it was emphatically better than nothing. And Bob possessed a few advantages that he’d never had.  
  
_Initiate defensive subroutine dalet._  
  
(After all this time, all this practice, it wasn’t really necessary for him to think the words any more, but he found it helpful. Plus, it meant he didn’t have to concentrate on his own body; knowing that his fingers would twitch in the correct sequence inside the control/feedback gloves in response to the command. Just as he’d trained them to.)  
  
Programmed reflexes weren’t going to hold for long against someone with Astrid’s level of skill, but it gave him a few moments’ breathing room to observe and analyse her fighting style. It was an odd sensation, feeling ‘his’ body react without his direct say-so; like he was reacting by instinct alone. He supposed that wasn’t exactly a million miles from the truth. His knowledge and instincts had helped to refine these these subroutines, after all.  
  
“Is Bob’s skin… alive?” Astrid asked suddenly. She didn’t even sound out of breath, which was a clear sign that he was going to have to take this up a notch or three if he was to have a hope of actually putting pressure on her.  
  
“Yes,” he said, dismissing the subroutine and launching into an aggressive flurry of attacks of his own. “You try analysing it with your power?”  
  
“Didn’t really have to try,” she said, switching from offence to defence without so much as blinking. “Like I said: I can’t switch it off.” As she spoke, she blocked hard, turning the motion into a forceful shove that knocked him off-balance enough to buy her a brief reprieve. “So, how is it alive?”  
  
“Not my area of expertise,” he said, recovering his equilibrium and pushing forward to close the distance between them. “You’d have to ask a bioengineer.”  
  
Or a bio-specialised tinker, if she could find someone who’d actually admit to being one of those.  
  
(Of course, at least one of the reasons why such people were few and far between was probably also the main reason why Bob was sleeved in something that actually bore a passing resemblance to human skin. That little detail, however, wasn’t widely known. Not that it was unusual for the PRT to confiscate villainous tinkers’ toys, but things grew a little more complicated when the toys in question were literally made from people. People whose next of kin might raise objections to researchers using cell lines derived from the processed remains of their loved ones. Not that the researchers themselves likely had the first clue where those cell lines really came from.)  
  
(Nick hadn’t been part of the operation to bring Omnia in, but he knew some people who were. Hardened veterans, all, and some of them had been shaken to the core by what they’d found when they raided her lab.)  
  
(And yet, when she’d stood trial for her crimes, she’d had the gall to insist that she was one of the heroes.)  
  
He launched a strike at Astrid’s stomach, but she knocked it aside, simultaneously snapping out a backfist to his temple with her other hand, using the moment that bought her to break his guard and slam a punch into his solar plexus. Well, into where Bob’s solar plexus would be if he had one. He shifted back, bringing up his guard again, but she smacked his arm down and jabbed him in the face.  
  
“So,” she said, smirking. “You planning on ramping up from easy mode anytime soon?”  
  
That startled a laugh out of him.  
  
“Trash-talking me now, are you?” he asked, stepping up the pace of his attacks. He paused for a beat and then, deliberately, added: “Kid.”  
  
His helmet comms remained silent, but then he hadn’t really been expecting Kimberly to object. The combat assessment was the one exception to the ‘don’t provoke the cape’ rule. Within reason. In any case, rather than glowering at him, Astrid’s smirk widened, her eyes positively glittering with what looked like amusement.  
  
_She’s enjoying this,_ he realised. _So much for it being a stress test._  
  
“Figured I had to do something to get you to make this interesting,” she drawled. “I think Vista hits harder than you do.”  
  
Before he could respond, her heel smacked him hard in the chest, and he had to devote a significant part of his attention to staying upright, activating another defensive subroutine to cover for his distraction.  
  
“No takedowns, remember,” he murmured, chidingly.  
  
“That wasn’t a takedown,” she said, her hand flashing out to land a solid palm heel strike to his chin, making him reel again. She followed up with a series of strikes to his abdomen, fast enough that the defensive subroutine couldn’t quite keep up with her. “You’re still upright, aren’t you?” Confusion flickered briefly over her face. “Or, rather, Bob is.”  
  
“A technicality,” he said.  
  
A few moments passed; moments in which Astrid proceeded to take advantage of Bob’s balance issues to land several solid strikes, even if she didn’t quite push hard enough to take him down to the mat. Still following the rules.  
  
Technically.  
  
“In my experience,” she said, in a slyly amused tone. “People only harp on about technicalities when they’re losing.”  
  
“Is that right?” he drawled.  
  
“Yes,” she retorted. “That’s fucking right.”  
  
It was interesting, seeing this side of her. _Wonder what Psych makes of it?_  
  
But he really couldn’t afford any distractions right now. After all, he still had a job to do, and this was going to take a bit of setting up.  
  
Even now he had a feel for Astrid’s fighting style, getting her where he wanted her wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. If he’d been himself, it would have been different, but Bob had… limitations. There were reasons he was considered pretty far from field ready. Nevertheless, even hampered like this, Nick still had a few tricks up his sleeve.  
  
He reeled again, teetering precariously. Astrid moved in to take advantage of his vulnerability, but rather than breezing through a — relatively — lacklustre defensive subroutine, she found herself met by a hard offence as Nick activated the balance stabilisers and pivoted to snap out a rapid series of strikes. Even caught by surprise, she recovered fast, but he wasn’t done yet. While her attention was focused upwards, his foot swept out in a scythe-like motion, taking Astrid’s feet out from under her and sending her crashing to the mat.  
  
At the edge of his field of vision, he saw Kieran shoot out of his seat like a rocket, and practically levitate his way to the edge of the mat, where he jerked to a halt as if someone had grabbed him by the collar. Trusting that his boss could keep his instincts in check enough not to interfere at this crucial last stage — possibly with the assistance of a gentle reminder from Kimberly — Nick focused his attention on Astrid.  
  
She hit the mat hard — not too hard, he hoped; he was aiming more to shock than hurt, after all — but instead of sprawling there, she rolled right back to her feet. Even half-expecting something of the sort, he was impressed by how quickly she recovered and came back at him. For his part, he remained in position, back in a ready stance, keeping his arms by his sides despite all his instincts screaming at him to get his guard back up.  
  
“Stop,” he said, quietly.  
  
And… she did. More than that, she actually snapped to attention.  
  
_Army brat. Huh._  
  
He was honestly half-surprised she’d actually stopped. She certainly wouldn’t have been the first one who hadn’t.  
  
She studied him/them warily. “Is the test over?” she asked, cautiously.  
  
“Yes,” he said. And, more for the sake of his own curiosity than anything else, he added: “You can stand down.”  
  
She didn’t even seem to notice that she moved into an ‘at ease’ stance, a frown creasing her brow as she kept her eyes on his/theirs.  
  
At the edge of the mat, Kieran shifted restlessly from foot to foot, practically vibrating with pent-up worry.  
  
“You played me,” Astrid said, but she seemed thoughtful, rather than annoyed. “Led me to believe Bob’s balance was worse than it is.”  
  
That wasn’t inaccurate. Not that Bob didn’t have balance issues, but they’d made considerable headway on solving those. Not that they’d be throwing him into actual combat any time soon, but still. They might not be tinkers, but the various members of the project group were damn good at their jobs.  
  
(And, okay, he had to admit that consulting with Dragon had helped a lot with ironing out some of the kinks. Sure, Bob wasn’t anywhere near at the level of one of her suits, but he was getting better all the time. And he had the advantage of not needing anything more than perfectly mundane maintenance. Although depending on how the combat tests went, he did sometimes need a fair amount of that.)  
  
Nick made Bob grin. “And that’s why age and treachery trumps youth and exuberance.”  
  
She snorted. “You’re not bad for an old man, I suppose,” she said. Smirking, she added: “Even if you do hit like one.”  
  
He laughed, the camaraderie bringing with it a sensation like toffee apples and razor blades; a sweetness he savoured even as it cut him to the quick. If he didn’t let himself think about it too deeply, it was almost like being back there, back then; bantering with his comrades in arms. Maybe it was her attitude, maybe it was that she was from Brockton Bay. Maybe it was a little of column A and a little of column B.  
  
Whatever the cause, it was disquieting to realise just how much he’d missed the feeling. Sure, he got on well with his team; considered them his friends. But it just…  
  
It wasn’t the same.  
  
But this really wasn’t the time for introspection.  
  
“And you’re not bad for a young whippersnapper,” he replied. That was honestly something of an understatement. Sobering, he studied her thoughtfully. ” You recovered well from the takedown,” he observed.  
  
“I should fucking hope so,” she muttered. “I’ve had enough practice at it.”  
  
As he tried to figure out how to prod for information in a way that wouldn’t get Kimberly up in arms, Kieran, apparently unable to contain himself any longer, cleared his throat, drawing Astrid’s attention.  
  
Frankly, Nick was almost surprised he’d lasted this long.  
  
“Are you alright?” Kieran asked, his gaze flicking over Astrid like he was half-expecting to see broken bones. “You’re not hurt, are you? Should I get Yas? I’ll get Yas. Maybe you should sit down.”  
  
“I’m fine,” Astrid said, staring at Kieran with an expression of complete and utter bafflement. “Why wouldn’t I be?”  
  
Kieran blinked owlishly at her. Nick had to stifle a laugh when he realised that his thoroughly confused expression was almost identical to Astrid’s.  
  
“You hit the mat really hard,” he said, hesitantly, giving Nick/Bob a look that was a peculiar mixture of reproach and pleading; like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to reprimand Nick or ask for his support.  
  
“Not that hard,” Astrid said, shrugging.  
  
“That was a very loud impact,” Kieran protested.  
  
“That just means that the mat was dissipating the force like it’s supposed to,” she said, still looking at Kieran like she was waiting for the punchline to a joke she didn’t quite understand. “I’m fine, really.”  
  
“It… didn’t hurt at all?” Kieran sounded distinctly dubious.  
  
“No, of course not.” She smiled, although her brow was still faintly creased in a puzzled frown. “You really don’t need to worry. Kieran.” It sounded like she hesitated before saying his name. Nick wondered if she’d been about to call him Sir. “Like I said: I’m fine.”  
  
“Well, if you’re sure you’re okay,” he murmured.  
  
“I am,” she said, with maybe a hint of an edge to her tone. Nick made a bet with himself that if it had been anyone other than Kieran expressing this level of concern, she would probably be outright snapping at them by now. _Based on what she said to Curtis, she probably sees it as ‘coddling.’_  
  
“Okay, I need to get Bob back in the rig,” Nick said, figuring it was probably a good idea to stop Kieran digging himself in any deeper. Just in case. “Kieran, can you man the console?”  
  
Kieran hesitated a moment, scrutinising Astrid, but then nodded. “Sure.”  
  
“Does that mean I can put my boots back on now?” Astrid asked, apparently directing her question to Kieran.  
  
“Yes, of course,” he said. He smiled, although his eyes were still clouded with concern. “We’re going to be heading out to the Range shortly, so that’s probably for the best.”  
  
“Am I allowed to ask what I’ll be doing out there, or is that intended to be another surprise?” she asked.  
  
“Broadly, we’re going to be testing your ability to affect things on a larger scale,” Kieran said, after taking a couple of moments to consider his answer. “But I’ll go over it in more detail when we get out there.”  
  
“I see,” Astrid said quietly. From the way she frowned, Nick figured it was a fairly safe bet that she found that answer less than satisfying. Whatever questions she still had, though, she kept them to herself. Stripping off her gloves, she went through a quick series of stretches before crossing to the edge of the mat to put her footwear back on. Kieran kept casting surreptitious glances over in her direction as he helped Nick wrangle Bob back into place, his hands fidgeting restlessly with anything not nailed down whenever they weren’t occupied with the controls.  
  
Nick sighed quietly to himself.  
  
_If he’s this worried after a simple sparring match, how much is he going to fret when we really start pushing her?_  
  
The evaluation, after all, wasn’t over yet.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Vincent_ **

 

“Here,” Vincent said, giving Astrid one of his best charming smiles as he (slowly and from a safe distance) held a cold bottle of water out to her. “I thought you might want this.”  
  
“Oh.” Her gaze flicked from him to the bottle, the tiniest of frowns briefly wrinkling her forehead before some of the wariness faded from her eyes. Relaxing her tense posture a little, she reached out and accepted the bottle from him. “Thank you,” she said, and it was a point of personal pride that the smile she gave him seemed genuine. “I was just thinking about going to get a drink.”  
  
“I had a feeling you might be,” he said, as she took a drink, pleased that she seemed to be growing a little more comfortable with him doing things for her. “That looked like thirsty work.”  
  
She glanced over towards Nick, and her smile morphed into a slyly amused smirk. “It wasn’t actually that much of a workout,” she drawled, her voice pitched to carry.  
  
Nick glanced up from his conversation with Joy and Hugh, his expression comically offended.  
  
“Do I need to remind you which one of us ended up on the mat?” he retorted, although it sounded to Vincent like he was having trouble containing laughter.  
  
“I got up again,” Astrid said, shrugging. “And you called a halt before I could retaliate. By my lights, that makes it a draw at worst. Of course, if you want a rematch…”  
  
“Sure,” Nick said, much to Vincent’s surprise.  
  
“Really?” Astrid seemed startled, but not at all displeased at the prospect.  
  
Vincent honestly despaired of ever understanding this girl. He also tried very hard not to feel put out at the rapport she suddenly seemed to have developed with Nick.  
  
“Yes, but not right now,” Nick replied. “Wouldn’t want to hold up the next part of your evaluation, after all.”  
  
All that effort Vincent had put in trying to adapt to her idiosyncrasies, trying to help her to relax, trying to coax her into opening up and behaving like a civilised and half-way sociable human being. All that, and who did she actually connect with in the end? The laconic ex-soldier who seemed to get a kick out of winding people up. The one who knocked her on her ass during a combat test and then taunted her about it. It just didn’t make sense!  
  
It was…  
  
No.  
  
No, he was being ridiculous. And petty. This wasn’t a competition. Plus, his aim wasn’t to befriend her, it was to make her see him as a subordinate of sorts, and he fancied he’d done well enough at that. So there really was no reason to feel slighted.  
  
(Anyway, envy was unproductive. As his father always said: ‘Don’t envy another person’s success. Instead, figure out why they succeeded, and apply those lessons to your own endeavours.’)  
  
He was just glad that Astrid felt comfortable enough to joke around with someone. Although some of her humour did seem to have faded somewhat at Nick’s words, and she tensed a little as she said:  
  
“No, I wouldn’t want to do that.”  
  
Nick studied her for a moment, his expression opaque, and then he beckoned her closer, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially.  
  
“Plus, you know Kieran would fret. Probably best to wait until he isn’t going to be clucking around us before we have that rematch.”  
  
(Vincent totally wasn’t eavesdropping. He just wanted to make sure he was close at hand in case Astrid needed anything. Anyway, if it was supposed to be a private conversation, Nick would surely have asked him to step away.)  
  
(Anyway, Joy and Hugh were blatantly listening in, and they didn’t even have the excuse of needing to be close at hand. Although, Hugh was poking at some equipment set up on the bench, and Joy was currently examining the skin on Bob’s torso, so maybe they did actually need to be there after all.)  
  
(Well, whatever. Nick and Astrid could always have gone somewhere else if they’d wanted privacy.)  
  
Astrid laughed quietly, and then froze, looking strangely guilty for a moment before her expression settled into a peculiar combination of frown and smile; amusement with an edge of… confusion? Annoyance? Both?  
  
“He does seem easily… concerned,” she allowed cautiously, glancing over towards where Kieran was heading out of the garage with a heavy-looking box in his arms. She frowned. “I offered to help with carrying stuff to the cars,” she muttered. “But he told me to relax and take a break.” Huffing out an annoyed-sounding breath, she shook her head. “How many fucking breaks does he think I need in a day?”  
  
Vincent blinked, a little taken aback with her vehemence. “I’m sure he means well,” he said. It only occurred to him after he’d spoken — when Astrid turned a narrow-eyed glance his way — that perhaps he would have been better served by keeping silent. “And I get the impression that he says similar things to the members of his team,” he continued, against his better judgement. He smiled, concealing his unease. “I don’t think it’s just you.”  
  
“That’s right,” Nick said, sounding positively phlegmatic. Then again, he wasn’t the one being looked at askance by a parahuman with a demonstrated temper and an apparent aptitude for violence. But Astrid did turn her attention to him as he continued: “Kieran likes to make sure his people come up for air once in a while and don’t overwork themselves. He’s just treating you like one of the team, that’s all.”  
  
Astrid appeared to chew that over for a moment, frowning, but then she looked almost stricken. “I wasn’t intending to be disrespectful,” she said uncertainly, her gaze flicking towards the door through which Kieran had disappeared.  
  
“I didn’t think you were being, particularly,” Vincent said gently, giving Astrid what he hoped she would find to be a reassuring smile. She was clearly distressed, but he really didn’t understand the reason for it. Kieran seemed like a cheerful, laid back sort of guy to him. Even if he’d heard Astrid’s words, Vincent honestly doubted he would have been annoyed at her for them. A little confused, maybe, but not annoyed.  
  
Nick gave Astrid a considering look, and then grinned wryly. Vincent had to stop himself shuddering at the way the the scars that marred his cheek writhed with the motion, thrown into stark relief. No wonder the man didn’t smile often.  
  
_Surely there must have been something he could do about that,_ Vincent thought. _Some kind of concealer, maybe?_  
  
He felt a little guilty at the direction of his thoughts — Nick had obviously suffered enough without having to put up with revulsion from the people around him — but he couldn’t help his ingrained reaction. No matter how much he wished he could. (Then again, he never had dealt well with ugliness. Of any kind.)  
  
“Anyway,” Nick said, thankfully oblivious to what was going through Vincent’s head. “If Kieran was bothered by disrespect, he would have canned half of his team long ago, me included. So, don’t worry about it.” He paused for a moment, and then, very deliberately, added: “Kid.”  
  
Now Nick was the one on the receiving end of that angry glare, and his survival instinct must surely have been nonexistent if he thought it was a good idea to prod deliberately at something he already knew was a sore spot for Astrid, even if it wasn’t clear exactly why. Vincent wondered if he should try to intervene. Before he could make up his mind, however, Astrid snorted — it really was a most unladylike sound — and shook her head.  
  
“He certainly must have the patience of a saint to put up with you, Old Man,” she muttered, smirking with what looked like a sharp kind of amusement. Vincent let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, watching Nick and Astrid with bafflement as they continued to bicker, apparently amiably.  
  
_I will **never** understand this girl._

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kieran** _

 

“This is the Range,” Kieran said, sweeping his arm out in an expansive gesture to indicate the concrete plains, hills and valleys stretching out before them. Buildings and other structures stretched upwards like mesas from the desert, both singly and in clusters. Off in the distance, the most complex of the latter, known as the Maze, took up an area the size of a city block. Scattered here and there throughout, the rounded humps of the observation bunkers clung to the ground like squat, solid mushrooms. Carefully positioned floodlights painted the whole scene in shades of light and shadow, breaking up outlines and confusing the eye, turning parts of the Range into a veritable concrete jungle.  
  
Not that Kieran was really focusing on any of that right now. Instead, his attention was taken up with the way that Astrid flinched at his gesture and then froze in place, her expression going blank.  
  
_No sudden movements,_ he thought, mentally kicking himself. _Right._  
  
Before he could figure out what to say — or even if he should say anything at all — Kim’s voice was there in his ear, issuing directives in a calm, nonjudgemental tone.  
  
“Kieran, please don’t mention Astrid’s reaction. Just try to avoid sudden movements around her in future. Otherwise, please continue as planned.”  
  
“I’m not sure if you’ve already been told,” he continued, hoping his pause had been neither as glaringly obvious nor as awkward as it had seemed to him. “But this used to be an old army test range.”  
  
“Vincent told me, earlier,” she replied, her voice quiet, but level. Maybe he was imagining things, but she seemed to be watching him closely, something like wariness lurking in the depths of her eyes. Almost like she was expecting… Like she thought… She smiled, but the expression seemed almost pasted on, and it did absolutely nothing to dissipate the air of watchful caution that clung to her like a shroud. “And now you use it to test living weapons instead of inanimate ones.”  
  
“That’s right,” he said, cursing himself for putting her on edge all over again. After she’d finally seemed to start relaxing around him, as well.  
  
He was so distracted by that, it took him a moment or two to parse what she’d actually said.  
  
_She thinks of herself as a weapon?_  
  
The realisation sank through his mind like a stone, taking root in his throat and choking back the rest of what he’d been about to say. The only saving grace was that Astrid had turned her attention to the Range itself, looking about her with a lively, if cautious, interest.  
  
“This looks a little more… pristine than I would have expected, considering its history,” she commented. “I was expecting to see craters and rubble.”  
  
Somehow, Kieran managed to cudgel his thoughts into gear and choke down the lump in his throat. Even if he did have the feeling that his smile looked as pasted on as hers had.  
  
“We patch it up when it gets a little too battered,” he explained. “Well, Maintenance does. Concrete’s pretty cheap, and it’s not that hard to throw up a few extra structures here and there when we need them.” He shrugged. “They don’t exactly have to be up to residential standards, after all.”  
  
Kieran felt a little sorry for the guys from Estates and Maintenance, sometimes. Especially the ones tasked with putting the Range back together after some blaster or shaker or brute or whatever broke it. No matter what equipment they had to make the task easier, it must have been more than a little frustrating to have to do the same job over and over and over again. God knew Matt complained about it enough whenever they caught up. (Which wasn’t as often as he’d like these days, so he’d have to do something about that.)  
  
Not that research didn’t have its own share of repetition, but at least you got information out of the endeavour. Kieran was willing to bet that no one ever bothered to thank the Rangers, as they jokingly called themselves, or to compliment them on a job well done. He made a mental note to send them some chocolates or something.  
  
“I see,” Astrid said. Giving the Range one final, assessing once-over, she turned to look at him with a quizzical expression. “What would you like me to do first?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kimberly** _

 

“There’s one aspect of the Wards’ duties we haven’t yet discussed,” Kimberly began. “And that is public relations.” She paused, giving Astrid a genially expectant look. Astrid remained still and silent, merely looking back at her with an expression that could best be described as uneasy. Sure enough, Andrew murmured:  
  
“Her pulse rate just jumped.” Somewhat dryly, he added: “Apparently she finds the prospect of public engagements significantly more stressful than the idea of getting in a cape fight.”  
  
Since it was clear that Astrid wasn’t likely to speak until and unless prompted, Kimberly would have to provide a suitable prompt.  
  
“What have you been told about that?” she asked.  
  
“That the Wards are sometimes called upon to visit schools and hospitals and the like, Ma’am,” she replied. “And that there may be events we’re expected to attend.” She paused for a moment — hesitated, really — and then continued. “I understand that there is likely to be some public speaking involved, especially in the school visits.”  
  
“How do you feel about that?” Kimberly asked.  
  
“I’d rather fight Hookwolf,” she muttered vehemently, almost under her breath, and then froze. “Apologies, Ma’am. I, uh, didn’t mean to say that aloud.”  
  
Presumably the name referred to one of the local parahumans; a villain, most likely. Certainly, Kimberly couldn’t imagine the PRT ever sanctioning a name like ‘Hookwolf’ for one of their heroes. She made a note to remind herself to look up the parahuman in question once the interview was over. It might be a useful measure of just how much Astrid disliked the prospect of PR duties.  
  
“That’s quite alright, Astrid,” was what Kimberly said aloud, her tone reassuring and a small smile on her lips, keeping her body language open and relaxed. “Should I take that to mean you have strong feelings on the subject?”  
  
Astrid nodded slowly, her eyes searching Kimberly’s face. “I’m… not overly keen on the idea, Ma’am,” she said, in a low voice.  
  
“Why is that?” Kimberly asked.  
  
A grimace flickered briefly over Astrid’s face before she smoothed her expression to neutrality, her back ramrod straight and her hands folded neatly in her lap. Kimberly wondered if the metal around her arms was as still as she was.  
  
“Words are not my strong suit, Ma’am,” she said, her tone making it sound like a confession. “I always seem to end up saying the wrong thing. I can’t imagine that having a wider audience is likely to improve that.”  
  
“You seem to be doing just fine so far,” Kimberly said, her tone gentle.  
  
Astrid’s eyes narrowed briefly, but she returned Kimberly’s smile. “That’s kind of you to say, Ma’am,” she said. “But I know my limitations.”  
  
“The PRT will provide training, of course,” Kimberly said. She let a little humour creep into her tone as she added: “They’re certainly not going to just throw you into the deep end and see whether you sink or swim. Plus, you’ll be able to turn to your team mates for help and advice. They’ve all been through it all before, after all.”  
  
“I suppose so, Ma’am,” she said. It was hard to tell whether or not she actually felt reassured, but Kimberly suspected the answer was closer to ‘not’ than otherwise.  
  
In any event, there seemed little point in mentioning the fact that the Wards’ patrols also counted as part of their PR duties; that they were expected to interact with members of the public while they were out and about. Heroes, after all, were supposed to be approachable.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kieran** _

 

“A road is an object,” Kieran mused, more to himself than to Astrid. “Interesting.” It had seemed likely, given that a footpath had apparently counted as such for the purposes of Astrid’s power, but still. _Fascinating._  
  
“So, let me get this right,” Curtis said, glancing from Astrid to the concrete surface beneath her bare feet and back to Astrid again. “Right now, you can sense every single molecular bond holding that road together?”  
  
“Not quite,” she said. “I’m damping my power down a little at the moment so I don’t get a migraine. But I could if I wasn’t doing that.” She glanced over at Kieran. “Did you want me to increase the resolution?” she asked, sounding a little uncertain.  
  
“No, absolutely not!” Kieran said, firmly. “Don’t you remember what I told you? No crippling yourself with thinker headaches.”  
  
“I wouldn’t cripple myself,” she muttered, frowning. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but, whatever it was, she kept it to herself.  
  
_Probably something about how she wouldn’t mind suffering a migraine as long as she doesn’t fail the test,_ Kieran thought glumly.  
  
Still, he clung to the positive thought that, even if that had been what was going through her mind, she hadn’t spoken it out loud. Which meant that, at the very least, she realised he wouldn’t find it acceptable for her to do so, even though he doubted she really understood why. He supposed that meant the telling off Yas had given her had actually done some good, even if it had been remarkably painful to watch.  
  
“Good,” he replied, nodding. “See that you don’t.”  
  
Astrid gave him the most peculiar look, but at least she didn’t seem wary right now, just confused. Which was sad in its own way, of course, but he’d take confusion over the kind of jumpiness that had her twitching every time he moved.  
  
Okay, maybe not every time. Sometimes she froze instead. And, okay, maybe it had only happened a handful of times, but it had certainly made an impression on him.  
  
“Are we moving onto the ping test now, Kieran?” Curtis asked, thankfully oblivious to the direction of Kieran’s thoughts. Kieran almost envied him his excited curiosity. Not that Kieran himself wasn’t excited, and curious, and all of that stuff. But he just couldn’t shake the sadness and the worry (and the guilt); not completely.  
  
All in all, it was probably a good thing he didn’t usually take part in evaluations. _It turns out that it’s not just the capes being tested who end up being put through the wringer._  
  
“That’s right,” he said, pulling his scattered thoughts together. “Astrid, can you please ping the road with your power? It doesn’t have to be much; just enough to be detectable to the tremor sensors.”  
  
“Okay,” Astrid said.  
  
Kieran scrolled through the sensor readouts. He felt his eyebrows raise of their own accord. _Huh._ “Good,” he said, absently, running through some rough calculations in his mind. “Now, can you do that again, three times in succession?”  
  
Astrid nodded, and the sensors duly registered three pulses. He nodded to himself.  
  
“What are you looking so thoughtful about, Kieran?” Curtis asked.  
  
“Take a look,” Kieran said, stepping aside to make room.  
  
Curtis did so, his brow furrowing in puzzlement as he scrolled through the numbers. “Looks pretty much as expected,” he said, glancing up at Kieran. “What am I missing.”  
  
“Let me pull up the schematic,” Kieran said, suiting the action to the words. “This should hopefully make it clearer.” He clicked through a few commands, zooming in on a specific part of the display. “Okay, so this is the road that Astrid is currently standing on.” He looked over at Astrid, meeting her uncertain frown with what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Astrid, can you please ping the road again; just once this time.”  
  
“Okay,” she said.  
  
“Right,” Kieran told Curtis. “Did you see the sensors light up?”  
  
“Yes,” Curtis said. “But that’s supposed to happen, right?”  
  
“Right,” Kieran said, nodding enthusiastically. “Now, just let me zoom out a bit…” He did so. “Right. Curtis, keep an eye on the sensors. Astrid, another pulse, if you will.” The representations of the sensors on the schematic lit up again, briefly. “There!” Kieran said, grinning broadly as he turned to Curtis. “You see?”  
  
Curtis’ eyebrows almost met his hairline. “That… wasn’t just this road,” he said.  
  
“No,” said Kieran. “No, it wasn’t.”  
  
“Did I do something wrong?” Astrid asked uncertainly. “You said to ping the road, so I pinged everything I could sense.”  
  
“Of course you haven’t done anything wrong,” Kieran said hurriedly. “Not at all.” He thought for a moment. “Do you think you could sketch out a rough map of what you’re sensing? I have pens.” He had a lot of pens stashed in various pockets. Including, apparently, two new ones he must have picked up today without realising it. He pulled one out now, looking around for something to write on. “There must be some paper around here somewhere,” he murmured.  
  
“There’s my lab book,” Astrid said. “I think you might be resting the laptop on it.”  
  
Kieran lifted the laptop up — Curtis had to grab for the edge of the little folding table to stop it from overturning — and, sure enough, there was the lab book. There was even a pen tucked neatly into the binding.  
  
“I’ll take it,” Curtis said. Once Kieran had the table steadied, he carried the book and pen over to Astrid.  
  
“Thank you,” she said absently, as she took it from him, opened it up and started to draw. Curtis unashamedly peered over her shoulder as she did so, his expression thoughtful. A few moments later, she tucked the pen back into the binding. “Finished,” she said, unnecessarily, glancing from Curtis to Kieran as she held the book out. “I’m afraid it’s a bit rough, though.”  
  
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Kieran said reassuringly, as Curtis took the book and crossed the short distance towards him. “It doesn’t have to be a work of art.”  
  
He compared Astrid’s sketch with the map currently displayed on the laptop screen. They matched, as expected, but that still left unanswered questions.  
  
“Okay,” he said, looking over at Astrid. “So, it looks like we were wrong about what your power would consider to be the boundaries of this particular ‘object.’ But it’s probably easier if I show you.” He started to turn the laptop around, but the table wobbled precariously. He could pick it up and carry it over there, he supposed, but… “Could you come over here a moment?” Astrid nodded and came to stand where she could see the screen. “Okay,” he said, again, zooming out the display. “This is the map of the whole Racecourse.” He highlighted a part of it. “This is the road you were standing on.” Extending the highlighted part, he continued: “And this is the part that you pinged.”  
  
“I see,” she said, sounding thoughtful.  
  
“I don’t understand,” Curtis broke in, a puzzled frown wrinkling his brow. “If her power can extend past the boundaries of that road.” He pointed. “Then why not to the whole Racecourse?”  
  
“Why do you keep calling it a racecourse?” Astrid asked, a little hesitantly. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she added.  
  
“Of course you can ask,” Kieran said, gamely smiling despite the pang that went through his chest at her wariness. “It’s where the ground-based movers get put through their paces. Speed and manoeuvrability tests.”  
  
“There’s an obstacle course, too,” Curtis chimed in, helpfully. “But you’ll see that later.”  
  
“Getting back on track, though,” Kieran said, and then grinned. “No pun intended.” Ignoring Curtis’ exaggerated groan, he continued. “I’d like you to try something, if you don’t mind.”  
  
“Of course,” Astrid said. She drew herself up straight and gave him an expectant look; the very picture of attentiveness. “What do you want me to do?”  
  
“Try to extend your power through the whole course,” Kieran said. “It doesn’t matter if you can’t,” he remembered to add. “I’m just curious to see whether you can.”  
  
“Me too,” Astrid murmured, her eyes alight with curiosity. She even gave him a smile as she moved back onto her mark. Just a brief one, true, but it still warmed him to see it.  
  
“Whenever you’re ready,” he told her.  
  
She nodded, her gaze turning distant. A few moments passed, a tiny frown line forming between her eyes. A few more moments passed. Sighing softly, she shook her head.  
  
“No, I’m sorry. It’s just like it is with a building’s pipes and wires: my awareness just stops dead at the boundary.”  
  
“That’s alright,” Kieran said, cheerfully. “It was just a thought. I’ll have to check with Maintenance to see if there’s any reason they can think of why that particular section could be counted all as a piece. Maybe it was all replaced at the same time or something.”  
  
“Or my power is just pretty fucking whimsical,” she muttered. “Um, sorry,” she added, flushing.  
  
“No need to apologise,” Kieran said. “I can understand feeling frustrated when you don’t understand why something works the way it does. Anyway, I’ve heard much worse than that, believe me.”  
  
“Yeah, you should hear Nick when he gets going,” Curtis said, grinning. “He could make a sailor blush.”  
  
“I can believe that,” Astrid said, smiling back at him. “Most of the soldiers I’ve met have been pretty foulmouthed.”  
  
“Have you met a lot of soldiers?” Curtis asked.  
  
Astrid shrugged, her smile dimming a little. “Like I said earlier: army brat,” she said briskly. “It kind of goes with the territory. But I’m not sure I should really be standing around and chatting.” She gave Kieran a quizzical look. “What’s next?”  
  
Kimberly interrupted Kieran just as he was drawing breath to answer.  
  
“Kieran,” she said. “It’s time for the visitors we talked about. Please indicate that you’re receiving a message.”  
  
_Oh. This._ He’d honestly almost forgotten. For a brief, panicked moment, his mind blanked completely, but then he took a breath and it all came back to him.  
  
“Hold on a moment,” he said, not even having to make an effort to sound distracted. “I’m being paged.” He touched his hand to his ear in the way that they’d generally been told to avoid. “Kieran here,” he said. “Go ahead.”  
  
The way Kimberly had explained it to him, the comms weren’t a secret, per se — there were too many capes who could potentially figure out they all had them, whether by means of their powers or through simple observation. If Astrid had asked, they weren’t expected to deny they had them. What they weren’t supposed to do was draw attention to the fact that Psych always had a hand on the reins.  
  
Very obviously and blatantly being contacted like this was just another metaphorical act of sleight of hand. If Astrid had noticed the comms, then it served to highlight the fact that they weren’t a secret. If she hadn’t, then it introduced them in a relatively innocuous way.  
  
_Plus,_ Kieran assumed. _It’s yet another reaction for Psych to quantify._  
  
“Good,” Kimberly said, sounding pleased. “Now, as we discussed, there are some visitors who would like to watch this part of Astrid’s evaluation. When you as her if that’s alright, be sure to imply that you’d prefer her to say yes. Please acknowledge and then ask her.”  
  
“I see,” he said, resisting the urge to try to swallow the stone that seemed to have settled in his throat. “I don’t think that should be a problem, but I’ll just check. Hold on a moment.”  
  
“Astrid,” he said, hoping that his smile didn’t look as ghastly as it felt. “There are some people having a tour of the facility at the moment, and apparently they’d like to see a cape in action. You don’t mind if they watch us for a bit, do you? It probably won’t be for long, and they won’t be in our way.”  
  
Astrid went very still. “That’s fine,” she said, the pallor of her skin and the hollowness of her voice more appropriate to someone about to be put in front of a firing squad than a few onlookers.  
  
“Great!” Kieran said. Lowering his voice a little, he turned away slightly. “That isn’t a problem,” he said. “Are you coming up now?”  
  
“Yes, they are,” Kimberly said. “Can you please send someone to meet them at the gate and bring them over to where you are?”  
  
“I’ll have someone come and meet you,” he agreed. “Is there anything else?”  
  
“Just one thing,” she said, an unexpected thread of humour weaving through her voice. “There’s no need to look so worried, Kieran. You’re doing fine. Just try to ignore the audience, and continue as planned. And remember to breathe, okay?”  
  
“Okay, then,” he said, the tightness in his chest easing somewhat, if not completely. Honestly, he doubted that was going to happen until this evaluation was over and done with. He just hoped that Astrid didn’t find this too stressful. “See you soon.”  
  
“Want me to go and collect the spectators?” Curtis asked. He, at least, didn’t seem noticeably stressed. Then again, he wasn’t the one who’d just had to lie to Astrid. (He knew this was a set-up, of course; the whole team did. Otherwise, there was too much of a risk that they’d recognise one of the miscellaneous interns and/or other facility personnel who’d been roped into playing tourists and accidentally blow the whole endeavour.)  
  
“Yes please,” Kieran told him.  
  
“Okay,” Curtis said. “Are you going to be sticking by the Racecourse for the next few minutes?”  
  
“Yes,” Kieran said. “I want to try to get some data about the scale and speed of the changes Astrid can make.”  
  
“Okay. See you both soon,” Curtis said, heading off in the direction of the Range entrance.  
  
Astrid barely even seemed to notice him leave, her eyes fixed on Kieran’s as if glued there. “The Racecourse is concrete,” she said softly, hesitantly. “Or something very similar. If I try to affect it too much, it’s just going to crumble.”  
  
He was a little surprised that she didn’t mention the comms. Or the spectators.  
  
“That’s fine,” he assured her. “Part of the point of this series of tests is to get an idea of the kind of havoc you can wreak, so don’t worry about it. We tend to expect the Range to take a beating. There’s a team waiting ro put it back together again when we’re done.” He hesitated, debating with himself for a moment or two before adding: “You’re certainly not going to be in trouble for damaging it. Okay?”  
  
She looked at him for a long moment, apparently weighing his words, but then she finally nodded.  
  
“Okay,” she said, simply. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Vincent_ **

 

Vincent watched through the toughened glass of the observation bunker’s windows as Curtis led the ‘tourists’ into view.  
  
_Lots of familiar faces there,_ he noted.  
  
“This is our stop, folks,” Curtis said cheerfully. “And the gentleman over here is Dr Kieran Bailey, head of Engineering, Technology and Applied Sciences. Over to you, Chief.”  
  
Vincent mostly tuned out Kieran’s welcome, his attention on Astrid. He noted with some concern that she seemed remarkably ill at ease. Or, at least, she was as still and expressionless as a statue. If it wouldn’t have completely defeated the object of the test, he would make his way over there at her side, so he could encourage her to focus on him and not the crowd. He was reasonably sure he’d be able to help her relax. Certainly, he’d be able to distract her from the source of her distress. But he had his instructions, same as the spectators and the various members of Kieran’s team did. And he was supposed to let Astrid sink or swim on her own, at least for the moment, so that was what he’d do.  
  
Even if he might have wanted to do otherwise.  
  
In any event, his thoughts were interrupted by the observers filing into the bunker where he was holed up with the rest of Kieran’s team. He obligingly moved up a little to make some room. It didn’t really help all that much — with the number of people in here, it was always going to be cosy at best — but it was the principle of the thing.  
  
(It was probably a good thing that Hugh and Joy had opted not to accompany them out to the Range. Apparently, they’d been more interested in getting a head start on their robot’s maintenance than in watching the rest of the evaluation.)  
  
“Hey, Vincent.” His heart sank at the familiar voice. He had recognised Dominic among the new arrivals. It was hardly a surprise to see his fellow intern amongst the ‘members of the public’ coming to watch Astrid — and her powers — being tested. However, he had hoped not to have to interact with the man.  
  
“Hi, Dominic,” he said quietly. Not wanting to talk to someone was no excuse to be rude, after all.  
  
“So, I was wondering,” Dominic continued. “Have you broken her heart yet?” The words were spoken lightly, but they made Vincent’s hackles raise nonetheless. He smiled politely, even amiably, despite the fact that he felt more like glowering.  
  
It wasn’t even the question, not really. He could certainly expect that and more from the rest of his friends, after all. It was just… something about Dominic really rubbed him the wrong way.  
  
“You know that’s not exactly the point of the exercise,” he said, with just a hint of reproach in his voice. “Anyway, this isn’t really the time to chat. You should probably be making at least a token effort to stay in character.”  
  
“I am in character,” Dominic said, smiling back at him with what Vincent fancied was an air of malice. _Or I could be imagining it. Maybe._ “Every audience needs a heckler or two, after all.”  
  
“Hmm,” Vincent said, noncommittally. He kept his expression open and cheerful, despite the scowl that had been trying to force its way to the surface since even before Dominic had opened his mouth. The urge only grew stronger when the guy actually spoke.  
  
_Like nails on a chalkboard._  
  
Which was probably deeply unfair of him. Not least because, by any metric, Dominic had a great speaking voice; deep and rich and resonant. Nevertheless, it grated. Especially right now, with Dominic apparently managing to find just the perfect note of sarcasm as he asked:  
  
“So, any advice? After all, you do seem to be Kimberly’s go-to guy for cape wrangling these days.” Sarcasm, and maybe just a soupçon of bitterness. Dominic gave a crooked smile, something like a challenge glinting in his eyes as he added: “At least for at the moment.”  
  
_It’s not my fault I’m good at this!_ Vincent thought, with some frustration.  
  
But there was no point in arguing. Anyway, this was hardly time or the place.  
  
“Nothing you don’t already know, I’m sure,” he said amiably. “After all, you’ve done a fair amount of cape-wrangling yourself. In the past, at least.”  
  
Maybe that last barb wasn’t precisely wise. (He knew it wasn’t. His mother would be so disappointed. ‘Don’t make enemies unnecessarily,’ she’d always cautioned him.) It did feel satisfying, though.  
  
Dominic’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, he was interrupted by the ‘tour guide’ — Anne-Marie; one of Kimberly’s grad students — clearing her throat.  
  
“Just a heads up,” she said. “The bunker comms are about to go live.”  
  
The observers were in the bunker — as opposed to standing out in the open — because of safety concerns. But they needed to be able to interact with Astrid, otherwise there was no point in having them here. Hence, the bunker comms, which they were encouraged to use freely to ask questions and otherwise comment on the tests.  
  
He wondered how hard they were going to push her, and how well she’d cope.  
  
_I have a bad feeling about this._

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

**_Nick_ **

 

The crack was a muted, almost polite sound; an understated accompaniment to the sight of a fissure splitting the now-scarred and pitted surface of the road right down the middle as a plume of dust rose into the air.  
  
_I bet that’s something they’ll want to discourage her from doing in the middle of Brockton Bay,_ Nick thought. But then, that could often be a problem with shakers. He dreaded to think of the damage she could do if she cut loose with her powers in a built-up area.  
  
“Is this entirely wise?” Eliot murmured from beside him. “Being so close, that is. I mean, we don’t even know what her range is.” He gave the ground beneath his feet a dubious look, as if he half-expected it to open up and swallow him. Given what Astrid had just done to the road, Nick could see why he might be concerned.  
  
He glanced around, but no one else seemed to be paying Eliot any attention. _Guess that means it’s up to me to answer._  
  
“What, you don’t like living dangerously?” he drawled. Although amused at the frown of mingled irritation and confusion Eliot turned his way, he figured he probably should try to say something reassuring. It wouldn’t do for the guy to end up with some kind of complex, after all. _Although maybe a chip on his shoulder would act as a counterbalance for that stick up his ass._  
  
No, that was unfair. He probably should make more of an effort to be nicer to Eliot. At least until he settled in and loosened up a little.  
  
“But, more seriously,” Nick said, damping down his amusement. “As I understand it, it’s not really a matter of range. She’s not touching the bunker, and it isn’t connected to the road she’s standing on, so I’d say we’re safe.” In theory, anyway. Assuming there weren’t any wrinkles or conditions they’d yet to discover. Assuming she didn’t try something… creative. But mentioning anything along those lines would be the opposite of reassuring, and he really was trying to be reassuring. “If Kieran or Psych had any doubts about our safety, they’d call this off.” He shrugged. “I suggest you try not to worry about it and just enjoy the show.”  
  
Eliot was quiet for a moment, and then he nodded, the corners of his mouth quirking upwards in a faint smile. “Thanks, Nick,” he said. “I guess I was worrying unnecessarily. It’s just… new, I suppose. I’m not used to being so close to parahumans. Especially parahumans using their powers.”  
  
“Better get used to it,” Nick advised, although not unkindly. “It’s kind of unavoidable in this line of work.”  
  
“Oh, I know that,” Eliot said hastily. “I mean, I knew that coming in. I’m not having second thoughts or anything.” Nick wondered which one of them he was trying to convince of that. “I think it’s just going to take me a little while to get used to it.”  
  
“One thing to bear in mind,” Nick said. “Evaluations are kind of a special case. It won’t usually be like this.” He held up a hand in a mockery of an oath. “Promise.”  
  
“That’s good to know.” Eliot sounded relieved, the hint of a smile on his lips blooming into something a little more worthy of the name. He started to say something else, but broke off at the sound of a voice from the peanut gallery.  
  
“Is that it?” It wasn’t exactly a shout, but the heckler’s voice was pitched to carry, the microphones of the bunker’s comms system picking up his words and relaying them through the speakers outside. Nick didn’t have to try to work out who’d spoken: he recognised the voice of the guy Vincent had called Dominic. “When are we going to get to see something exciting?” Dominic continued, sounding thoroughly petulant.  
  
Astrid flicked a narrow-eyed look in the direction of the bunker but didn’t say anything in response. _That’s something,_ Nick supposed. Although he couldn’t help wondering how far her self-control would extend in the face of repeated irritations. She’d already demonstrated that she had a temper, and that her patience wasn’t infinite. Still, that was at least part of the point of this test. Or, at least, he assumed it was.  
  
“Kieran,” she said quietly. “May I try something?”  
  
“What is it?” Kieran asked, his smile practically lighting up his face. (Nick couldn’t help feeling that his boss was way too invested in this evaluation; in Astrid. Likely it was partly her age, and partly because that was the kind of guy Kieran was. It was one of the things that made him a good guy to have in your corner.) Astrid glanced around, and then leaned in towards Kieran, speaking too softly for the external microphones to pick up her words. His smile faded, replaced by a frown of concern. “I’m not sure about that,” he said doubtfully. “It could be dangerous.”  
  
“Not really,” Astrid replied, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Because I can…” She leaned in again, the rest of her sentence inaudible. Kieran still had that concerned frown on his face, but Nick could practically the interest kindling in him.  
  
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Eliot murmured, frowning.  
  
“Not sure, but I bet Kieran’s going to say yes.”  
  
Eliot gave him a doubtful look. “He said it could be dangerous, whatever it is. That doesn’t sound like he’s about to agree.”  
  
“You seem pretty sure about that,” Nick mused.  
  
“I think I have a good chance of being right.” Now Eliot’s tone was wary, which just went to confirm that he had at least a modicum of common sense.  
  
Nick contrived to look innocent. “Care to make a wager to that effect?”  
  
“Let me guess,” Eliot said, dryly. “The loser has to deal with Dr Nordhoff on Thursday?”  
  
_That wasn’t a no._  
  
“I accept your terms,” Nick said swiftly.  
  
“But I wasn’t-“ Eliot started to protest, but Nick shook his head vehemently.  
  
“No take backs,” he said firmly. “A bet is a sacred thing. You can’t go reneging just because you get cold feet.”  
  
“But-“ Eliot started again, only to break off and sigh deeply. “Fine,” he said, with bad grace. “I suppose we have a bet.”  
  
“Which… I believe you’ve just lost,” Nick said, making a half-hearted attempt not to sound too smug. He gestured towards Astrid, who was nodding enthusiastically as Kieran said something stern-sounding, a small smile curving her lips.  
  
Eliot looked in that direction, pursing his mouth with what looked like disapproval. “I see,” was all he said aloud, though. “You’ll have to let me know what’s required of me for the meeting with Dr Nordhoff.”  
  
“Not much, honestly,” Nick said. “Just listen to him, nod in the right places, and note down all the relevant information about what he actually wants us to build for him.”  
  
“That’s it?” Eliot asked cautiously.  
  
“That’s it,” Nick confirmed. He shrugged. “Honestly, he could just drop us an e-mail listing his requirements, but he prefers face to face meetings, and he’s apparently more important than the whole of ETA put together, so…”  
  
“Ah.” Eliot’s face twisted like he’d bitten into something particularly foul-tasting, and he spoke the next word with profound disgust. “Politics.”  
  
Nick raised his eyebrows. While people could look down on workplace politics on general principles, the sheer level of disdain Eliot expressed seemed almost… personal.  
  
_I bet there’s a story there…_  
  
Unfortunately, this really wasn’t the time to try to delve into it. In lieu of asking questions — much though he wanted to — Nick gestured towards Astrid.  
  
“Looks like something’s about to happen,” he said.  
  
Curtis came trotting up with a handcart on which sat a sizeable block of metal; probably the same one used for the batch of tests Eliot had assisted with earlier.  
  
“Thank you,” Astrid said cheerfully.  
  
“You’re very welcome,” he replied. “Do you want me to unload this anywhere in particular?”  
  
“No need,” she told him. Reaching out a hand, she rested her fingertips lightly on the surface of the block which promptly… melted. Except no, that wasn’t quite right. It didn’t just collapse into a puddle, it flowed with purpose; some of it twining around her hand and wrist as the rest of it surged onto the road.  
  
“What is she doing?” Eliot asked, with what seemed like reluctant interest.  
  
“Building something, it looks like,” Nick replied absently. The bulk of it was piling up into some kind of a… wall? Kind of an odd shape for a wall, with the sides and the top of it curving outwards, away from her. The remainder of the metal formed a ribbon that neatly marked off a stretch of the road ahead of her, beginning a short distance beyond her barrier.  
  
“Kieran, Curtis: I suggest you move back a little,” she said quietly. The two men exchanged a look and did as she asked, shuffling the folding table back with them. A murmur went through the small crowd in the bunker.  
  
Astrid looked around, presumably double-checking that the field of fire — or whatever — was clear. Nick approved of her caution.  
  
_Wonder if that’s something actually useful her dad taught her._  
  
Dominic took the pause as his cue to speak up. “Is she just going to stand there, or is she actually going to-“  
  
With a ‘whoomph,’ a plume of fire erupted from the road ahead, shooting up into the air. A moment later, the floor rumbled beneath them.  
  
Nick blinked against the sudden flare of light, but the fire was already dying down. Astrid collapsed her wall — her blast shield — like a breaking wave, extinguishing the few remaining guttering flames with a flood of metal. She held it there for a few seconds, and then sent it back to the handcart, reforming it into a block. All the while, she kept her gaze on the bunker, not even bothering to watch what she was doing with the metal.  
  
“That’s what happens when you atomise concrete,” she said, her voice carrying easily through the silence. One side of her mouth twisted up in a wry smile. Her eyes were practically sparkling with amusement, and her face was faintly flushed, as if with exertion. “I hope you found it suitably… exciting.”  
  
_Yeah,_ Nick thought. _There are definitely going to be some restrictions on how she uses her power out in the field._  
  
“Exciting?” came a wavering voice from the crowd; a woman Nick vaguely recognised, but couldn’t put a name to. “More like terrifying!”  
  
As if that had been a cue, there was a sudden scramble among the people packed into the bunker, some ducking down and some moving to the sides, away from the windows.  
  
“She could have burned us to death,” said a man Nick was fairly sure worked in HR.  
  
“What?” Astrid said, looking thoroughly taken aback. “No, I wouldn’t… No one was in any danger, I promise. I-“  
  
“I didn’t mean to offend you!” Dominic’s voice was tight and panicked-sounding. “Just… Just don’t do that again, okay? Please?”  
  
More people spoke up, their voices joining together in a soft susurrus of fear. Astrid tried again to reassure them that there was no danger, that she wasn’t going to hurt anyone, but they were very convincing at seeming unconvinced.  
  
There a huff of breath from Nick’s other side. He glanced around to see Yas standing there with her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes at the agitated crowd.  
  
“I think they’re going a little overboard,” she muttered, her words quiet enough to go unheard amidst the general clamour.  
  
“They’re trying to de-escalate,” Nick answered her absently, most of his attention on the clearly distressed Astrid. Yas started to say something else, but she broke off when Anne-Marie, the tour guide, cleared her throat.  
  
“Well, time is ticking on, ladies and gentlemen, and we’re already running a little late. I’m afraid we’re going to have to move on. Thank you Astrid, and Kieran, for letting us observe. We’ll get out of your hair.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” Kieran said, his smile looking distinctly half-hearted. Astrid didn’t even attempt a smile as she echoed his words, her face blank and her tone flat.  
  
Led by Anne-Marie, the group filed out of the bunker and made their way towards the Range entrance. Some of them seemed distinctly nervous as they passed Astrid. Others seemed more cheerful, even going so far as to thank her for the show. At first, she stared at these like they were speaking a foreign language, but then, belatedly and still in that same dull monotone, she repeated:  
  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
Kieran looked in the direction of the departing people and sighed, slumping visibly, although it wasn’t clear whether that was with relief or dejection.  
  
“Alright,” he said, turning to Astrid. “We’re going to be moving on to another part of the Range for the next batch of tests, but for now, I think we’ll take a break. Okay?” Astrid nodded, but didn’t speak. Kieran looked at her for a moment. “Actually,” he said. “Before you grab some refreshments or whatever, do you mind answering a couple of questions about the last test?”  
  
“Of course not,” she said, giving him a wary, if slightly baffled look. “What would you like to know?”  
  
“Let’s move over to the table so I can make some notes,” he said.  
  
As the two of them disappeared from Nick’s line of sight, Kimberly’s voice came over the comms.  
  
“All of you,” she said calmly. “If Astrid shows any signs of aggression or anger, please back down and do not provoke her. If she seems reluctant to discuss something, or to talk at all, don’t press her. Thank you.”  
  
Silence fell within the bunker. Yasmeena, a thoughtful look on her face, glanced around and then strode purposefully across to the far wall, where she hit the switch that disabled the bunker comm system. Her task complete, she strode just as purposefully back towards Nick.  
  
“What were you saying before about de-escalation?” she asked.  
  
Nick shrugged. “A lot of capes have issues with dominance or aggression,” he said, simply. “Not all of them, by a long shot, but enough. Push the wrong one, in the wrong way, and they’ll likely not only push back but escalate. Case in point: Astrid was pissed off by the heckling, so she set the road on fire. If that wasn’t escalation, then I don’t know what is. But if you do end up riling a cape up, you can sometimes defuse the situation by showing you accept that they’re top dog. That’s what the tourists were doing by expressing fear.”  
  
Silence fell again, the others looking at Nick with expressions ranging from thoughtfulness (Yas) to horror (Eliot) to inscrutability (Melanie, Vincent). Oh, and utter confusion. (Curtis, who’d just walked in.)  
  
“What are you talking about?” Curtis asked, glancing around at them all, frowning. “Who’s top dog?”  
  
“Astrid, apparently,” Yas observed, dryly. “If that was what they were doing, it didn’t seem to work very well,” she said to Nick. “Astrid seemed even more stressed out by thinking that people were afraid of her.”  
  
“But she wasn’t pissed off,” Nick pointed out. “And she didn’t escalate further.”  
  
“I doubt she would actually have put anyone else in danger,” Melanie said quietly, frowning.  
  
“Maybe not,” Nick said. “But why take the risk?”  
  
“Is it something to do with their powers?” Eliot asked, his expression troubled. “The… dominance and aggression issues, I mean. Do their powers make them that way?”  
  
Nick snorted. “Answer that question and you’d be set for life. Believe me, there are lots of very smart people working on that question right now.” He nodded at Vincent. “He probably knows some of them.”  
  
“That’s true,” Vincent said, his mouth curving up into a noncommittal half-smile. “It is a fascinating question, though. Do many parahumans have certain traits in common because getting powers changes them, or are people with those traits simply more likely to develop powers in the first place?”  
  
“More to the point,” Nick said. “It’s the loaded gun thing all over again. Sure, that person with the weapon in their hand might actually be the most chilled dude who ever abided. Or they might be a gnat’s cock away from unloading on the next person who looks at them funny. Given the consequences of getting it wrong, you pretty much have to go in assuming the latter.”  
  
“That’s an awfully pessimistic way of looking at it,” Melanie said, frowning.  
  
“I prefer to think of it as practical,” he said.  
  
“But you’ve hardly been taking your own advice,” Eliot pointed out, a little indignantly. “Quite the opposite, in fact, from what I heard when we were packing up to move out here.”  
  
“I must admit, I was a little surprised that you called her ‘Kid,’ given her reaction earlier,” Vincent said, eyeing Nick quizzically.  
  
“So much for not pushing the cape, huh, Nick?” Yas said.  
  
“Like you’re one to talk,” Melanie said before Nick could speak, nudging Yas gently with her elbow. “By the sounds of it, you pretty much read her the riot act about injuring herself.”  
  
“It had to be done,” Yas said, unrepentant, nudging Melanie right back. “And sure, she got a little pissed off at times, but that couldn’t be helped.” Unease showed briefly in Yas’ eyes, but then she smirked. “I wasn’t just provoking her because it was funny watching her ruffle her fur like a grumpy cat.”  
  
“Not just because of that, anyway,” Melanie said.  
  
“Hey, at least I never called her Kid,” Yas retorted. “And, unlike Mr Hypocrite over there, I wasn’t doing anything I’d told the rest of you not to do.”  
  
“I’m not a hypocrite,” Nick said, putting on an air of mock-offence.  
  
“So you weren’t needling Astrid?” Vincent asked, sounding amused.  
  
“I was bantering with her,” Nick said, with exaggerated patience. “There’s a difference. It’s all about context. Anyway, she started it with the trash-talking when we were sparring.” Eliot was looking at him like he’d grown a second head. He sighed quietly to himself and racked his brains for a way to reassure the man. “Look,” he said. “I’m not saying you need to walk on eggshells around every single cape you meet. You just need to pay attention, and be aware of the warning signs. And, like I said before, evaluations are kind of a special case. New parahumans — especially young ones — are pretty much always going to be more volatile than grown-ass men and women who’ve had their powers a while.”  
  
Sure, there were some notable exceptions to that rule of thumb, but mentioning that would be less than helpful right now. There would be time for nuance later. Now, it was more important to calm Eliot down. Preferably before Astrid realised she was starting to terrify the man. Unlike some capes he could mention, she’d probably find that upsetting.  
  
“That makes sense,” Eliot said, after a moment. He still looked troubled, but Nick fancied his disquiet was less than it had been. Honestly, this was probably as good as it was going to get for the moment, so best to quit while he wasn’t too far behind.  
  
“I wonder how Astrid triggered,” Curtis murmured, his eyes alight with curiosity.  
  
“That isn’t something we should be talking about,” Vincent said swiftly, his voice firm and his expression reproachful. “You know the rules.”  
  
“I wasn’t going to ask her or anything,” Curtis protested indignantly. “I’m not an asshole. Or an idiot. I’m just wondering aloud, thats all.” He looked around at them all, his eyebrows raised quizzically. “Any of you have any theories?”  
  
“You know about trigger events, right?” Nick asked Eliot quietly.  
  
Eliot nodded. “It was covered during orientation. Along with a big fat warning not to ask any of the parahumans I meet how they got their powers.” He frowned. “I hadn’t really thought about it in relation to Astrid, though.”  
  
“Maybe that was when she got hurt,” Melanie said softly.  
  
“I really don’t think we should be discussing this,” Vincent said, sounding thoroughly unhappy.  
  
Nick thought about it for a moment and then sighed. “Vincent’s right,” he said quietly, but firmly. “We need to focus on completing the evaluation. Speculating like this isn’t helpful.”  
  
Half the team already seemed to be way too emotionally involved in this whole process, either in wanting Astrid to ’succeed’ (Kieran, probably Yas, for all her ‘provocation’ of the girl, and likely Melanie, just because that was the kind of person she was) or in being afraid of her (Eliot). Thinking too hard about whatever terrible thing might have happened to her would only make things worse.  
  
He, of course, was, and would always be, the very model of objectivity.  
  
“Yes, Sir,” Yas said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.  
  
Nick snorted. “Don’t you start,” he said. “It was bad enough hearing that from Astrid.”  
  
“She calls Kieran ‘Sir’ sometimes as well,” Curtis chimed in, adding: “Astrid, obviously. Not Yas.” He smiled at Yas. “I’m not sure Yas knows the word.”  
  
“Damn straight,” she muttered, but her heart didn’t seem to be in it, and her forehead was creased in a frown. “She called me Ma’am a few times too,” she added. “I thought she was being sarcastic at first.”  
  
“Heads up,” came a voice over the comms. Surprisingly, it was Andrew, not Kimberly. “Astrid and Kieran are done with their conversation and are heading your way. I strongly suggest you wrap up this topic.”  
  
The admonition seemed to kill the conversation altogether. Luckily, Nick had just the thing to ensure that they weren’t all standing around in awkward silence.  
  
“While I remember, I have some good news to report,” he said.  
  
“Oh?” Curtis said.  
  
“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Yas drawled.  
  
Nick reached up to clap Eliot on the back. “We have a volunteer for dealing with the Nordhoff situation.”  
  
“I’d hardly say I volunteered,” Eliot said, primly. “Considering you tricked me into making a bet I’m now pretty sure you knew you would win.”  
  
“I am hurt and dismayed that you would say such a thing,” Nick said solemnly, putting his hand to his heart. “Hurt and dismayed, I tell you.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Eliot,” Melanie said sympathetically. “Dylan really isn’t as bad as they’re making out. He just likes the sound of his own voice a little much, that’s all.”  
  
“And you’ll learn to watch out for Nick,” Yas said, smirking when he turned his ‘hurt and dismayed’ look on her.  
  
“Just don’t let him talk you into playing cards,” Curtis said. “No matter how much he promises he’ll go easy on you.”  
  
“Really not my fault if your poker face is for shit, Curtis,” Nick said airily. “And I was going easy on you.”  
  
As he bickered amiably with his team, Nick reflected that, all in all, Engineering, Technology and Applied Sciences was by far not the worst place he could have ended up after he’d been… After what had happened to him. Maybe these people weren’t his squad; hadn’t been bonded in battle — and Astrid was absolutely right about those ties being the kind that bound — but they were his friends. Kieran was a great boss, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work he did.  
  
(Plus, he got to at least have the illusion of walking again, and that certainly wasn’t nothing.)  
  
Given all that, though, given everything, he had to admit to himself that he missed them: Marlene, Cav, Lysowski, Murphy and all the rest. And Marlene. (He didn’t let himself think about the fact that he’d listed her twice.) So maybe… Maybe it was time.  
  
He wasn’t gullible enough to believe in signs, or fate, or dumb shit like that, but maybe Astrid’s being here right now was the kick in the pants he’d been needing for a while.  
  
_Time to stop moping, Nicholas,_ he thought, hearing an echo of the words in his father’s voice as he resolved to add to the message he’d semi-accidentally asked Astrid to pass on to them. _Way past time._  
  
And, hey, if he did get in touch with the old crowd again, he could let Cav know about the fucked up ideas Astrid had about what constituted proper military SOP. Cav, if anyone, could set her straight. God knew someone probably needed to.  
  
Making the decision to reach out seemed to make him feel… lighter, somehow. Like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, as his counsellor would undoubtedly say. He wasn’t entirely certain whether she’d be pleased with him, or if she’d tell him he was taking a step backwards, but he found he really didn’t care.  
  
_Marlene is going to be so pissed off with me,_ he thought ruefully, not even daring to imagine the scale of the tongue lashing she’d give him for taking so long to get back in touch.  
  
Strangely, the thought made him want to smile.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Vincent** _

 

_Well, it could have been worse,_ Vincent thought, as Kieran and Astrid disappeared from view. _She didn’t panic, and she didn’t hurt anyone._ It wasn’t the worst reaction he’d ever seen, that was for sure.  
  
(That dubious honour probably went to the time a cape had ripped her own arm off and sent it scuttling across the room to choke the person who’d been loudly scoffing about the usefulness of ‘detachable limbs’ as a power. Vincent supposed her counterargument had been rather effective. It had certainly been memorable.)  
  
It was a relief when the others ceased their speculation about Astrid’s trigger event. He dreaded to think how she would have responded if she’d walked in on that. He was curious about why Andrew had delivered the warning, rather than Kimberly, but then he supposed she was likely talking to Anne-Marie and her ‘tour group;’ getting their impressions of the incident while the details were still fresh in their minds.  
  
He listened with half an ear as the evaluation team bantered between themselves, vicariously warmed by their clear regard for each other. Content merely to observe — and not wanting to disrupt the flow of their conversation — he let his thoughts drift back to his charge.  
  
_I’ll say this for Astrid,_ he mused, thinking back to the moment when an innocuous road had suddenly — if briefly — become a river of flame. _She might not be one for winning hearts and minds, but she seems to know how to make an impression._ That, at least, was something that PR could work with. Although, given that the Brockton Bay Wards already had one ‘edgy’ hero on their roster, presumably they’d want to encourage Astrid to develop a less… threatening… cape persona.  
  
Now, that was a job he thought he could enjoy. Carefully crafting not just an image, but a whole identity? Taking parahumans and moulding them into heroes? That kind of challenge actually sounded exciting. Certainly, it piqued his interest in a way that ‘PRT Director’ never really had.  
  
_What are the odds that Mother and Father would be satisfied by that, though?_ he wondered. Although… if he pitched it to them in the right way… The chance to influence individual capes, the teams they joined, and the public’s perception of heroes. That was certainly something he could sell.  
  
But he was getting ahead of himself. At the moment, it was just an idea, and ideas without research were just dreams by another name. As his father always said: ‘You can’t build a business on dreams alone.’  
  
It was something, though; it was a place to start.  
  
The buzzing of his phone pulled him out of his speculation regarding which of his friends, acquaintances and contacts might be able to put him in touch with someone he could ask about ensuring that he ended up in PR for the next part of his internship. (Preferably without getting his parents involved, as he didn’t want to bring this idea up with them until he was good and ready.)  
  
He felt a smile curve his lips unbidden as he looked at the name on the display.  
  
‘Hope your Friday-ing is going better than my lab report right now,’ Juliet’s message said. ‘Going for a short walk to clear my head so I don’t stick my computer in the laser chamber and fry the hell out of it. Just wanted to let you know in case you stopped by and wondered where I was.’  
  
‘Thanks for the heads up,’ he texted back. ’Still in the middle of testing right now. Hopefully not too much longer, though. I’ll let you know when I’m done.’  
  
Once he’d sent the message, he belatedly thought that it seemed way too impersonal, so he sent another one.  
  
‘Please don’t fry your computer, Juliet. Good luck with the report. I’m sure you’ll do fine, as always.’ He hesitated a moment, and then added. ‘If you want, I can read through it when I come over. I won’t understand any of the technical stuff, but at the very least I can ensure that your spelling and grammar are excellent.’  
  
‘I might just take you up on that,’ she replied. ‘Look forward to seeing you.’  
  
It really was ridiculous how relieved he was to read that. Not to mention that, despite his best efforts, he was grinning like a fool. This was stupid: he wasn’t a kid in the middle of his first crush. And he already knew Juliet both liked him and found him attractive. Plus, if he was honest with himself, she wasn’t really the type of girl he usually dated. But, somehow, none of that seemed to matter.  
  
Anyway, she might not be the prettiest girl around, but she really did have the loveliest smile. And, well, he liked her a lot.  
  
(God knew that hadn’t been true of half the girls and two of the three guys he’d dated. Although the latter probably hadn’t been helped by the fact that he apparently really wasn’t all that interested in dating guys. Still, how would he have known that for certain without giving it a go? Not that his mother wouldn’t be thrilled if he managed to snag a Makepeace or a Hunter, both of which dynasties seemed to tend towards boys. The Makepeace heir was a little young right now but, like his mother said, it never hurt to think ahead.)  
  
‘You too,’ he texted back, before he could change his mind.  
  
Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see Kieran come into the bunker and make a beeline for the snacks. There was no sign of Astrid, though. Wondering if he should be concerned, he gave Kieran a few moments to gather himself and then drifted over towards him.  
  
“Excuse me, Kieran,” he said politely. “Is Astrid planning on staying outside?”  
  
“Yes,” Kieran said, and sighed heavily. “I don’t think she’s feeling overly sociable right now.”  
  
“Thank you,” Vincent said, wondering whether ‘not feeling overly sociable’ was closer to ‘a mild preference for not being around people right now’ or ‘actively hostile to the thought of company.’ Those were emphatically not the same thing. Still, he supposed he’d better at least check. “I’ll just go and see if she needs anything.”  
  
“Just so you know,” Kieran said, halting him before he’d taken more than a step. “She’s practicing with the metal at the moment.”  
  
“Thanks for the heads up,” he replied, making a mental note to be even more careful about not startling Astrid. He didn’t spot her immediately when he stepped outside. The handcart was empty of metal, though. _Where can she have got to?_ He cautiously peered around the corner of the bunker, but there was no sign of her.  
  
“She’s out on the Racecourse,” came Andrew’s voice in his ear. “In middle of the hilly bit. If you head to the right a bit and look straight ahead, you should see her. I’ll let you know if she goes anywhere in the meanwhile.”  
  
“Thanks, Andrew,” he murmured.  
  
“Anytime,” Andrew replied.  
  
_She really did make a mess of the road,_ he observed, as he followed Andrew’s directions. Part of it simply wasn’t there any more, with nothing but lightly scorched earth to mark where it had been. The rest of it was a mess of fissured and pot-holed concrete. It was just a shame that her attempts at fixing the damage she’d caused had been rather less successful than inflicting it in the first place.  
  
The short walk allowed time for the second thoughts to set in. Maybe he should just let her have some time to herself. But Andrew hadn’t warned him to keep away. In the end, he found himself circling back to his original conclusion: better to check up on her and see if there was anything he could do to help. If she truly wanted to be alone, he could always leave again. But, after the less than stellar outcome of the social pressure test, maybe the sight of a friendly face wouldn’t go amiss right now.  
  
As Andrew had said, he soon caught sight of a familiar figure pacing back and forth between the peaks of what Andrew had called ‘the hilly bit’ of the Racecourse. It wasn’t a bad description, Vincent conceded, seeing as the area resembled something along the lines of a skate park or a bike track. He assumed the point of it was to give movers a bit more of a challenge than the more level parts of the course. As he drew closer, he realised that her lower half was encased in metal.  
  
Well, that certainly explained why she seemed to be moving a little awkwardly.  
  
She was facing away from him at the moment, so he thought he should probably call out before he got too close. Before he could do so, however, Astrid spoke.  
  
“Hello, Vincent,” she said.  
  
He paused, his eyes widening a little. “Hi,” he said, after a moment. And then, because curiosity was practically eating him alive, he asked: “How did you know it was me?”  
  
In lieu of answering, she pointed upwards and a little ahead of them. Looking in that direction, he could just about make out something glinting in the light. As he tried to work out what it was, it obligingly came closer, seeming to float through the air towards them. It was a fisheye mirror, he realised; the kind they had in the subway to avoid collisions between commuters hurrying around otherwise blind corners. After giving him the chance to study it, she returned it to its previous position. Now he knew what he was looking for, he could see that it was supported on a metal scaffold that looked a little like a miniature electricity pylon, a thin cable trailing from it to loop around Astrid’s left wrist.  
  
“It’s pretty easy to turn metal into a mirrored surface,” she said quietly. “It’s not perfectly smooth, but it’s easily fit for purpose.” She sighed softly. “I wouldn’t want to hurt someone by accident while I’m practicing.”  
  
At some point while he’d been studying the mirror, she’d turned to face him. He surreptitiously studied her face and body language, searching for clues as to what was going through her head right now. She didn’t seem angry. If anything, her eyes were sad, her face pale and drawn. Looking more closely, he could see the shadows under her eyes, and the way her usually perfect posture drooped ever so slightly. She looked tired. Which wasn’t surprising given the horrifically early hour at which she’d started her day.  
  
“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, his tone deliberately upbeat and his smile friendly. “I just thought I’d see if you wanted anything. A drink, perhaps? Coffee?”  
  
“Coffee would be fan-fucking-tastic right now,” she said with feeling. It was with no small measure of pride that he noted how she returned his smile, at least for a moment or two. “But I can’t really ask you to bring it all the way out here.”  
  
“Of course you can,” he said cheerfully. “It’s what I’m here for, after all.”  
  
She sighed softly. “I should probably head back to the others anyway,” she said, not sounding overly enthused by the prospect. “I wouldn’t want to hold up the next batch of tests if they have to send someone to find me.” A ghost of a smile hovered over her lips as she added: “Anyway, you’d probably be the one they’d send, and it really doesn’t seem fair to make you keep traipsing back and forth. I wouldn’t want you to get your nice clothes all dusty, or sweaty.”  
  
He was honestly surprised she’d even noticed what he was wearing. She didn’t really seem to be the type of girl who took an interest in fashion. Then again, people could often surprise you.  
  
“I appreciate the consideration,” he told her, and let his smile broaden into the not-quite-smirk that had charmed more girls than he could really remember. “And the compliment.” It was a little endearing, the way she blushed at his response. Not to mention amusing. That was, however, a sentiment he judged best kept to himself, so he politely ignored her apparent consternation to say: “Do you want to go back now, or would you prefer to stay out here for a bit?”  
  
“Let’s go now,” she said decisively, adding a few words under her breath that sounded a lot like: “Before I change my mind.” He politely ignored that as well. “Do you mind if I keep practicing with the metal while we move?” she asked. “I’m afraid that means we’ll probably be going quite slowly. Unless you want to go on ahead?”  
  
“I’m happy to keep you company,” he said easily. “And a slow pace is fine with me.” Dryly, he added: “All the better for not getting my clothes sweaty.”  
  
She actually laughed at that, proving that, despite the odd misstep here and there, he hadn’t lost his touch.  
  
“Just as well I wasn’t planning on jogging, then,” she said good-humouredly.  
  
On that note, she turned to stride stiffly back in the direction of the bunker. He opened his mouth to remind her about the metal she wasn’t currently wearing as leggings, only to close it again as it flowed towards her and wrapped around her upper body and arms. She didn’t even stop moving as it did so, although she did slow down a little.  
  
“You don’t even have to look at it?” he asked, before he could think better of it. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind.  
  
“I can tell exactly where it is relative to me,” she said. The brief smile she turned his way wilted a little as she added: “Which seems to help less than you’d think it would when it comes to wearing it.”  
  
“I would say I can imagine, but I suppose I really can’t,” he murmured. Which, thinking about it, was probably haring a little too close to forbidden subjects, so he segued from curiosity to reassurance. “I’m sure it’ll come with practice,” he said gently.  
  
“That’s why I thought I’d work on it while I had a few minutes,” she said, sounding a little distracted. “I figured even a little bit would help.” She sighed. “And it’s certainly better than sitting around and doing nothing.”  
  
“Well, Kieran did call a break,” he said carefully, wary of saying something that would make her think he was trying to coddle her. “I hardly think he’d object if you sat and relaxed for a bit. You have had quite a long day, after all.” _And, apparently, a stressful one,_ he added silently.  
  
“That’s what the coffee’s for,” she said flatly.  
  
She didn’t seem to be irritated with him, so he chose to take that as a victory. She didn’t, however, show any signs of wanting to continue to the conversation, so he let the silence stretch. He had never generally been a fan of silence, and doubly so in the midst of conversations — such pauses usually felt awkward or strained — but both his mother’s example and Kimberly’s had demonstrated that they could be an effective part of dialogue. So he forced down his increasing urge to say something — anything — and tried to distract himself by thinking about seeing Juliet later.  
  
He was really looking forward to it.  
  
As the bunker hove into view, Astrid slowed her already slow pace even further. She glanced over in his direction once or twice, her expression troubled. The third time she looked his way, she stopped moving altogether. He also came to a halt, looking at her enquiringly. (And holding his tongue with a great effort.)  
  
“That was a real clusterfuck, wasn’t it?” she asked dismally. “The tour, I mean.”  
  
As if there was any doubt about what she was referring to.  
  
“I’m not sure that’s true,” he replied gently. “At least some of the visitors seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed themselves.”  
  
“But most of them started out bored and ended up pissed off or scared,” she replied. She paused for a moment, frowning, but to Vincent’s eyes it seemed that she had more to say. He waited her out, and in a soft voice, she asked: “Do you think I’m going to be in trouble?”  
  
_She really seems worried,_ he thought, surprised. Naturally, he didn’t let his surprise show on his face, instead giving her a reassuring smile.  
  
“I shouldn’t think so,” he said.  
  
“I can’t imagine the PRT will be too happy about me scaring random civilians,” she said in a low, tight, voice.  
  
“Well, you can’t please everyone,” he tried, feeling a little out of his depth here. “And some of them did request something exciting. I don’t think they can reasonably blame you for giving them what they wanted.”  
  
She laughed, but the sound held no real humour.  
  
“Since when has ‘reasonably’ counted for anything more than sweet fuck all when it comes to blame?” she practically ground out. “Anyway, I should have thought it through a little more. I’m sure there was something ‘exciting’ I could have demonstrated that wouldn’t have fucking *terrified* them.” She looked away, her jaw tensing as if she was clenching her teeth. “I should have held on to my fucking temper,” she muttered.  
  
“It wasn’t that bad,” he said gently. “No one was hurt. And Kieran gave you the go-ahead, so he obviously thought it was fine.”  
  
“That’s what he said, afterwards,” she told him, sounding a little uncertain. “He didn’t seem angry with me, but then I guess he’s not in the chain of command. It wouldn’t be up to him to-” She broke off so suddenly he almost expected to hear her teeth clack together as she bit off the rest of the sentence.  
  
He gave her a moment, but when she didn’t continue of her own accord, he gently prompted her with: “To what, Astrid?”  
  
“Nothing,” she said flatly. “It doesn’t matter.” A moment later, in what was a fairly transparent attempt to change the subject, she said: “I didn’t realise this place actually offered tours.”  
  
“Oh, yes,” he said. “They’re actually quite popular.”  
  
That was absolutely true. In point of fact, various PRT and Protectorate facilities offered at least limited tours. It was an easy way of garnering good PR for the heroes, he supposed. At least as long as the heroes cooperated. Vincent had been on a few of those tours himself over the years. Thanks to his parents’ connections, he’d even gotten to see some of the areas not normally on the itinerary for the general public.  
  
“I know there are tours of the Wards HQ back in Brockton Bay,” Astrid said, something that seemed not a million miles away from dread turning her voice hollow. “But I won’t be taking part in those until I have my costume and cape name.”  
  
The ‘thankfully’ at the end went unspoken, but was clearly audible nonetheless.  
  
“Have you given any thought to your name?” Vincent asked, genuinely curious.  
  
Astrid went still. “No,” she said tightly. “No, I haven’t really thought about it at all. I’ve been… a little busy.” Her obvious unease had him immediately casting about for a change of subject, but she got there ahead of him. ”I need to return this metal.” She took a breath, and gave him a rough approximation of a smile. “Would you mind making me a coffee while I put it back on the cart?”  
  
“Of course I don’t mind,” he said, smiling at her with just the right touch of wryness. “I am, after all, completely at your service. If there’s anything you want, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said awkwardly, looking a little flustered; the pink flush of her cheeks made painfully obvious by her otherwise pale complexion. (Vincent felt a little sorry for her, having such an obvious tell. He was thankful that he didn’t suffer from such an affliction.) “It does feel a little like I’m taking advantage, though. I suppose I should be glad that you seem to be the patient sort.”  
  
“No patience necessary,” he assured her. “Believe me, you are nowhere near the most challenging of the capes I’ve wrangled in my time.”  
  
He was taking a little bit of a chance with the humour, but she did seem to respond well to it, at least when she didn’t think it was at her expense. Unlike Nick, he didn’t think he’d be able to get away with blatant mockery. _Or, as he puts it: banter._ But a little gentle teasing should be fine.  
  
It was still a relief when the look she gave him in response was amused, rather than annoyed.  
  
“Then I should probably feel sorry for you,” she said dryly. There was a speculative glint in her eye, and he was unsurprised when she went on to say: “I suppose asking you to tell me about some of the other capes you’ve assisted is a no-go?”  
  
“I’m afraid so,” he said. “Confidentiality concerns.” He leaned in a little, dropping his tone conspiratorially. “On the bright side, though, that means I can’t gossip about you to anyone else.”  
  
“Oh,” she said, looking a little disquieted. “Well, that’s good. I dread to think what you could say.”  
  
“It would all be complimentary, I promise,” he said, the reassuring lie tripping easily off his tongue.  
  
Anyway, it wasn’t that much of an untruth, not really. She did seem more or less like a nice girl. A little high-strung, maybe, and she could probably do with working on her temper a little, and she did seem to have some very peculiar hang-ups. But, all in all, her company wasn’t generally unpleasant. With a little polish, a little maturity (and a lot of fashion advice), he wouldn’t object to spending time with her socially, as well as in a work context.  
  
Not that he would be allowed to do any such thing, of course. He was supposed to avoid any subsequent social contact with the parahumans whose evaluations he’d assisted with. While he could see the reasons behind it, in a way it was a terrible shame. He got the chance to meet and interact with parahumans in a way that generally seemed to predisposed them to see him in a positive — if subservient — light, and he wasn’t allowed to take advantage of it.  
  
_Ah well,_ he mused philosophically. _It isn’t like there aren’t other opportunities._  
  
“That’s… nice of you to say,” she said, flushing even pinker. She made a game attempt to recover her composure, giving him a rueful smile. “I mean, I know you’re just being polite, but I appreciate the thought.”  
  
He briefly thought about trying to convince her otherwise, but decided that the attempt had far too great a chance of backfiring. She seemed well-disposed towards him at the moment; best not to risk spoiling that.  
  
“I’ll go and get that coffee started for you,” he said. “See you soon.”  
  
“See you soon,” she echoed. “And thank you.”  
  
“You’re very welcome.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The conversation in the bunker quieted a little as Vincent strode through the door.  
  
“Don’t worry, it’s only me,” he said, smiling amiable around at the group as he headed for the coffee machine.  
  
“Is Astrid staying out there?” Kieran asked, a concerned expression on his face.  
  
“She’s on her way,” Vincent said, aiming for a reassuring tone. The man certainly looked like he needed it. He seemed almost as tired and stressed as Astrid herself, and that was saying something. “She was just going to put the metal back on the cart.”  
  
He checked the coffee machine, surprised and pleased to find that someone had just put a fresh pot on.  
  
“Do you think she’ll return all of it this time?” Yasmeena asked, smirking. “Or will she keep hold of some?”  
  
Kieran frowned at her. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to take it before. I mean, I accidentally walk off with stuff all the time.”  
  
“Like my pen, earlier,” she drawled.  
  
“Oh.” Kieran reached into various pockets, and retrieved a plethora of pens in various colours and styles. “Is one of these yours?”  
  
“This one,” she said, reaching over and taking it from him. “Thanks.”  
  
“Sorry about that,” he said a little sheepishly.  
  
“That’s okay,” she said, in a fondly indulgent tone. “We’re all used to your pen-thieving ways.”  
  
“So,” Nick drawled. “While we’re on the subject, did Astrid actually keep hold of some metal before we broke for dinner?”  
  
Kieran sighed softly. “Yes. But, like I said, I’m sure she didn’t mean to.”  
  
A disapproving expression flickered over Eliot’s face at Kieran’s words, but he didn’t say anything. Nick, on the other hand, gave a satisfied-looking nod, like he was pleased at being proved right.  
  
“Perhaps we should curtail this discussion for the moment,” Vincent said. Presumably Andrew — or Kimberly, if she was back on comms — would warn them if Astrid was about to walk in, but it still seemed like bad practice.  
  
“You’re right,” Kieran said briskly, nodding. “Let’s talk about something else. Curtis, Yas: mind if we go over the changes we’re going to make to the Show Home for the next test?”  
  
Yasmeena and Curtis made noises of agreement, and the three of them crowded around the laptop. Vincent wondered idly what the show home was, but he didn’t want to interrupt them. He checked on the coffee again, which was just about ready.  
  
“Feeling the need for caffeine?” Nick asked.  
  
“It’s for Astrid,” he said. He gave a self-deprecating shrug and a wry smile. “All part of the job.”  
  
“Guess you get a lot of coffee-making experience as an intern,” Nick observed.  
  
“A fair amount,” he agreed. He retrieved a to-go cup from the stack and carefully filled it from the pot. (They had brought some proper mugs out, but the to-go cup meant that, if Astrid decided she wanted to go for another wander, at least she’d be able to take the hot drink with her without worrying about spilling it.) _At least this isn’t exactly difficult to prepare,_ he mused, fitting the lid into place. “Does anyone else want some coffee?” he asked.  
  
“If you’re offering,” Nick said. “Black, one sugar. Thanks.”  
  
“I wouldn’t say no,” Curtis said. “Creamer and two sugars, please.”  
  
“Coming right up,” he said.  
  
Astrid showed up as he was handing Curtis his drink. She looked uncertainly at the cup of coffee he’d set aside for her. “Is that mine?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” he replied, smiling at her.  
  
“Thank you,” she said gratefully, picking it up and taking a deep draught of it before he could warn her that it was hot. She didn’t seem to notice, though, sighing with apparent satisfaction. “I needed that.” She smiled at him. “That’s a good cup of coffee.”  
  
“I can’t really take credit for that,” he said. “Someone else had already put the pot on. I just poured it in the cup.”  
  
“That was Kieran,” Nick said. “He’s the coffee maestro around here. Given how much of it he drinks, his bloodstream is probably pure caffeine by now.”  
  
“I don’t drink that much coffee,” Kieran protested, apparently not as immersed in his conversation with Yasmeena as it had seemed.  
  
“Sure you don’t,” Yasmeena said, laughing.  
  
Astrid looked at the two of them with a faintly confused expression before shaking her head slightly and taking another drink.  
  
“Thank you for putting the pot on,” she said to Kieran.  
  
“No need to thank me,” he said, positively beaming at her. (Although there still seemed to be a hint of something sad in his eyes.) “I drank the last of the previous pot, so it seemed only fair.”  
  
“And he says he doesn’t drink that much coffee,” Yasmeena said, chidingly. She turned to look at Astrid. “You seem to drink a fair amount of it yourself.”  
  
Astrid shrugged. “It’s a reasonable substitute for sleep on occasion,” she said dryly. “Plus, I like coffee.”  
  
“I still can’t believe you voluntarily got up at four,” Vincent told her, shaking his head. “I would be a wreck if I’d done that. If you ask me, four am should only be seen from the other side.”  
  
“I told you, I had things to do,” she said, shrugging.  
  
“What on earth did you have to do at that godawful hour of the day?” Kieran asked, looking faintly horrified.  
  
“Hit the gym. Hit the books. Practice my fine control with my power. The usual.” She looked around, frowning a little. Somewhat self-consciously, she added: “I normally get up at six. So it wasn’t really that bad.”  
  
“Six still sounds pretty bad to me,” Kieran said. Privately, Vincent agreed with him. In an ideal world, any hour before ten am would only be seen from the wrong side, after a very good night.  
  
“It’s really not,” Nick said, sounding amused. Astrid gave him a half-smile and raised her coffee cup to his direction in a mock-toast.  
  
“More Brocktonian solidarity?” Curtis asked, grinning. He rejoined Kieran and Yasmeena in front of the laptop.  
  
“Just an obvious truth,” Nick said. He have Astrid a thoughtful look. “So, what were you doing out there just now anyway? Kieran said you were practicing something with metal.”  
  
“Trying to figure out the armour,” she said.  
  
“I hope you haven’t hurt yourself again,” Yasmeena said sharply.  
  
Astrid rolled her eyes. “I didn’t really damage myself last time,” she said mulishly. “Not to any degree worth mentioning, anyway. But no, I have no new bruises or abrasions or whatever. So you can stop **fussing**.” She infused the word with such contempt that it was almost a palpable force.  
  
_Time to try to soothe the irritated parahuman, I think,_ Vincent thought with concern.  
  
“Do you want anything to eat, Astrid?” he asked solicitously. “Some fruit, perhaps?”  
  
“An apple wouldn’t go amiss,” she said, the glower melting away to be replaced by a smile. “But I can get it, don’t worry.”  
  
“Oh, let the kid do his job, Astrid,” Yasmeena drawled. “He might as well make himself useful.” But the look she turned his way didn’t seem actively malicious; just amused. In his book, that counted as progress.  
  
“Really, it’s no trouble,” he said, crossing the room to retrieve an apple from the dwindling supply, which he handed to Astrid with a flourish.  
  
She accepted it with a rueful smile. “Thank you,” she said, and then shook her head. “You know, I’ve been waited on more in this one day than I have in my entire life to date.”  
  
That just made him feel sorry for her all over again.  
  
“I bet you could get used to it, though, right?” Melanie said, smiling. “I know I wouldn’t mind having someone around to see to my every need.”  
  
Astrid coughed around her bite of apple, turning a little pink, but she made a sterling effort to recover her composure. “Honestly, it’s a little weird,” she said frankly, and then looked stricken. “The being waited on, I mean. Not you, Vincent.”  
  
“I’ve been called worse,” he said, grinning. “But don’t worry. I know what you mean.”  
  
“Good,” she said, smiling a little self-consciously. She drank more coffee.  
  
“Hey, Astrid,” Melanie said, grinning.  
  
“Yes?” she replied.  
  
“I think you just got yourself a few more honorary chemist points for managing to ignite something that doesn’t usually burn,” Melanie said.  
  
_I’m not sure that was wise,_ Vincent thought. He supposed Melanie was trying to put the incident in a positive light and engage Astrid’s sense of humour, but given her level of stress, that could easily backfire. Certainly, Astrid seemed conflicted right now, and she looked like she didn’t quite know how to respond to Melanie’s comment. But then she took a breath, and her features rearranged themselves into an expression of wry amusement.  
  
“Was that worth more or less points than blowing myself up?” she asked, and Vincent relaxed a little. Apparently Melanie’s conversational gambit had paid off.  
  
“That’s a good question,” Melanie replied. “Probably more, on account of it was a much bigger fireball.”  
  
“It’s probably a good thing that one didn’t go off in your face,” Yasmeena said, smirking.  
  
Astrid shot her an irritated look. “It wouldn’t have,” she said. “I only atomised the part of the road bounded by the metal.”  
  
“Oh, is that all,” Yasmeena murmured. “Just no big thing, huh?”  
  
“Well, I didn’t think Dr, uh, Kieran would have been very pleased with me if I set the whole thing on fire,” Astrid retorted.  
  
Yasmeena snorted. “Dr Kieran would be fretting, is what he’d be doing,” she said, earning herself a glower from Astrid as she mocked the girl’s slip of the tongue.  
  
“I am right here, you know, Yas,” Kieran said, but his eyes were sparkling with humour and the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile.  
  
“Oh, you know you would be,” Yas told him, with some asperity. “And probably clucking at me to check her over for burns.” Turning her attention back to Astrid, she — quite unwisely in Vincent’s opinion — levelled a stern look at her. “I do hope you’re going to be careful about any ‘experiments’ you carry out on your own,” she said. “I really don’t want to end up hearing about the Brockton Bay PRT building going up in smoke.”  
  
“I wouldn’t!” Astrid said, her expression absolutely horrified. Recovering her composure, she continued in a level tone. “Anyway, Aegis told me not to use my power on the building.”  
  
“Because teenagers always do what they’re told, of course,” Yasmeena said, cynically.  
  
The look Astrid gave her in turn held as much confusion as irritation, and her voice, when she spoke, was uneasy. “I’m not going to disobey a direct order from the team leader,” she said.  
  
“That’s probably a good idea,” came Nick’s amused drawl. Apparently he and Eliot had decided to join their little group. Vincent was a little concerned about how Astrid would react to yet more people coming over to talk to her, but she didn’t seem to take it too amiss. Then again, she actually seemed to like Nick, if not Eliot. “Did I hear you correctly?” Nick continued. “Aegis is leading the Wards now?”  
  
“Yes,” she said, studying Nick cautiously. “Do you know him?”  
  
“We’ve talked a few times,” he said. “How’s he doing now? Still getting in trouble with Miss Militia?”  
  
Astrid’s eyes widened a little, and she stared at Nick for a moment or two before responding. “Not that I’m aware of,” she said, her voice a little strangled. “I haven’t really spoken with him all that much. I’ve been pretty busy with training.” After a brief hesitation, her expression conflicted, she asked: “He got in trouble with Miss Militia?”  
  
“Alas, I’ve probably said too much already,” he said. “You’ll have to ask him about it if you want the details.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be doing that,” she muttered. “Pissing of my commanding off-, I mean, my team leader is the absolute last thing I want to do right now.”  
  
“Were you about to say commanding officer?” Nick asked, which was what Vincent had been wondering, but hadn’t thought it wise to say out loud.  
  
“I didn’t say it,” she said, her expression mulish.  
  
“But you were going to,” Yasmeena said; not really a question. She studied Astrid thoughtfully.  
  
“It’s just a phrase,” Astrid muttered, shrugging.  
  
“The Wards aren’t a military organisation, though.” Eliot sounded puzzled. Vincent could certainly understand that, although he was a little surprised that Eliot had spoken up at all. “You’re not soldiers.”  
  
“Astrid is getting significantly stressed right now,” Andrew said, sharply. “Time to end this line of conversation.”  
  
“I didn’t say we were,” she said, and even with all his experience at reading people, Vincent found it hard to tell whether she was distressed or annoyed right now. A combination of both, most likely. “It was just a slip of the tongue, for fuck’s sake!” She started to say something else, and then paused, taking a deep, audible breath and letting it slowly out again. “I’m sorry, Eliot,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”  
  
“That’s okay,” he said slowly, eyeing her a little warily.  
  
She gave him a half-hearted, slightly sickly smile, and with a brief, apprehensive glance in Kieran’s direction, headed off to the far side of the bunker and practically buried her face in her apple. It was glaringly obvious that she really wasn’t in the mood to talk at the moment.  
  
Vincent studied Astrid surreptitiously. He didn’t need Andrew to tell him that she was wound pretty tightly. It was a little disappointing, given the success he’d had in calming her down after the tour. He supposed that just meant he’d have to start again. But maybe not right now.  
  
No, for the moment, the best thing he could do would be to give her a little space.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Andrew** _

 

“Is there anything else I need to know before I go in?” Kimberly asked softly.  
  
Andrew glanced briefly at the screen showing Kimberly making her way though the Range before turning his attention back to the view from inside the bunker. The evaluation team were, variously, chatting, checking their phones and, in Kieran’s case, half-heartedly doing something on his laptop while trying to pretend he wasn’t surreptitiously watching Astrid.  
  
Good. They were following orders and not engaging the subject.  
  
His chief objection to using this team for the evaluation — however suitable they may have been in other ways — was their general lack of experience with testing protocols. Inexperience could lead to hesitation — or even, in the worst case, wilful noncompliance — when what was needed was swift action. The degree of cooperation they’d exhibited thus far had honestly been a pleasant surprise, but it wasn’t something he was inclined to take for granted.  
  
The subject was sitting off by herself, her posture stiff and her attention very clearly focused on a notebook she’d retrieved from her backpack a few minutes ago.  
  
Which reminded him: “Astrid verbally reprimanded Vincent for not knowing where her backpack was when she asked him for it. He apologised profusely and promised to keep a better eye on it in future, which seemed to mollify her somewhat.” He glanced at the sensor readouts. “She’s still in a highly stressed state which, aside from a brief improvement after she disintegrated her apple core a few minutes ago, only seems to be getting worse as time goes on.”  
  
Astrid’s increasing agitation was the reason for their current concern, and why Kimberly was headed out there now for a face to face intervention. Left to her own devices, there was a non-zero probability that the parahuman’s anxiety and distress would increase to the point where she wouldn’t be able to contain it any longer. The results of that could be… unfortunate. Some manner of reassurance was necessary, but it would be most effective coming from someone with a high degree of social adroitness and, in this case, quite possibly who was an authority figure.  
  
Kieran might have been the latter, though he’d been doing his level best to demolish that status in Astrid’s eyes, but he was in no way the former. And thus, any intervention by him could just as easily cause the situation to go critical as calm things down. Hence, Kimberly.  
  
Andrew really didn’t envy his colleague.  
  
“Thank you,” Kimberly said.  
  
She always made an effort to say please and thank you, to be polite, even when it wasn’t strictly necessary. Manners were clearly important to her. Frankly, he was almost surprised she’d been able to bring herself to be rude to Vincent as part of the test earlier. Only ‘almost surprised,’ though, because above all else, Kimberly was a consummate professional. She would never let a little thing like personal discomfort get in the way of her doing her job.  
  
“All part of the service,” he said, keeping his tone light despite the icy fingers trailing down his spine; the feeling like his guts were being twisted into knots. The breathing exercises were reflexive at this point; automatic. They were also effective, those first tremors of panic subsiding well before they could become a full-blown quake, leaving him calm and clear-headed once more.  
  
Then again, he wasn’t the one going in there. Nor would he be, thankfully: his days of handling the interviews and interventions personally were behind him.  
  
Kimberly reached the bunker and strode through the door. “Good evening,” she said, her tone blandly pleasant. Kieran and his team reacted with obvious surprise. Vincent was inscrutable, but given his interactions with Astrid, he likely realised that they were at least considering an intervention. Astrid’s reaction, however, was the one he was interested in. She glanced up as Kimberly entered the bunker, and briefly froze, her pulse spiking sharply.  
  
Andrew succinctly relayed the relevant information to Kimberly and watched Astrid as she practically shot to her feet, standing bolt upright with her arms clamped tightly to her sides.  
  
“Kimberly,” Kieran said, with evident surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you.”  
  
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I just need to have a quick chat with Astrid.” There was another spike in the sensor readings as she said that, but Andrew didn’t want to interrupt her while she was speaking. “Would you mind if we use the bunker?”  
  
“Of course not,” said Kieran, although his brows drew together in a frown, suggesting that his statement wasn’t entirely true. He was clearly willing to cooperate, however, which was the truly important thing.  
  
“Curtis and I might as well head over to the Show Home and get started on those adjustments,” Yasmeena said, decisively; the same way she seemed to do everything else. In his opinion, that made her more a liability than an asset when it came to direct interactions with a subject, though it had seemed to work out well enough earlier. Despite his objections.  
  
“Sounds good,” Curtis said, agreeable as always.  
  
If he could learn to control his tendency towards gesticulation, he might make a good assistant for future evaluations. He wasn’t as polished as Vincent — then again, who was — but there was an openness about him to which certain types of people responded well.  
  
“Good,” Kieran said, nodding absently, casting a worried glance in Astrid’s direction as he got to his feet. She barely even seemed to notice him, her attention fixed on Kimberly.  
  
“Astrid’s agitation increased sharply when you said you wanted to talk to her,” Andrew told Kimberly as the others took their leave and filed out. He took note of the parahuman’s pallor, her blank expression, and the way she held herself rigid and still. “Fear seems more likely than aggression at this point. Cause uncertain.”  
  
He could make some educated guesses based on his observations so far, but there seemed little point in sharing them, especially since Kimberly had more information on which to base a theory.  
  
Nick and Eliot were the last ones out of the bunker. Eliot had been casting glances in Nick’s direction, so Andrew was unsurprised when he cleared his throat and spoke.  
  
“Nick, do you, ah, want a hand?” he asked, a little uncertainly. “The surface out there is a little uneven.”  
  
“No, I’ve got it.” Nick’s tone was sharp, almost angry. Andrew, unseen, rolled his eyes. _Who couldn’t have seen that coming? Eliot, apparently._ It often surprised him that people were able to function with so little ability to gauge the mindsets of those around them. “Thanks for the offer, though,” Nick added, grudgingly.  
  
Andrew had to admit that there was something in him that admired Nick for his apparent ease at being out there, interacting with parahumans in the wild. (Even after being crippled by them.)  
  
Eliot smiled a little awkwardly, but didn’t say anything further.  
  
His occasional negative reactions to Astrid’s use of her powers were a potential cause for concern. It wasn’t uncommon for people new to the field to be a little unnerved during their first exposure to parahuman capabilities, but it was still something worth keeping an eye on. Not that Andrew was unsympathetic to his unease, but then he was well aware of his own biases — not to mention experiences — in that regard.  
  
Though a little awareness of the potential dangers was hardly a bad thing to have. After all, the parahuman you don't see as a threat is the one who kills you. He knew that better than anyone else here.  
  
With the probable exception of Nick, of course.  
  
In any event, now that the bunker had been cleared, Kimberly made her way towards Astrid, keeping her movements slow and unthreatening and halting while she was still well out of range, giving her plenty of space.  
  
“Hello, Astrid,” she said gently, smiling. “Please take a seat.”  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Astrid said stiffly. Her movements were as stiff as her voice as she perched on the edge of the chair she’d leapt up from previously. As before, her posture remained rigid, and she fixed her gaze on Kimberly. In what was surely a calculated move, Kimberly turned away from her briefly to reposition one of the other chairs.  
  
Andrew frowned suddenly as a thought occurred to him. He studied the chairs — flimsy, cheap-looking folding things that they were — and nodded to himself, activating the comms.  
  
“Please be aware that the chairs are metal,” he said, not bothering to waste time on castigating himself for not realising sooner. It shouldn’t be an issue — wouldn’t be, unless the situation went severely off the rails — but Kimberly needed to know that Astrid was effectively armed right now. _Not that she’s ever really unarmed,_ he supposed. But metal seemed to be the thing she reached for preferentially. Especially when agitated to the point of subconscious power usage.  
  
 Kimberly sat facing Astrid, maintaining her distance and leaving the parahuman a clear route to the door. It was important not to make her feel crowded or trapped, doubly so because of what she’d said earlier.  
  
“First of all, how are you doing, Astrid?” Kimberly asked, meeting Astrid’s gaze with a small smile.  
  
“Fine, thank you, Ma’am,” she said cautiously, her brow furrowing just a little.  
  
“You’re probably wondering why I’m here…?” Kimberly said, the slight upward lilt at the end of the sentence, coupled with the expectant look she gave Astrid, making it at least an strongly implied question, especially when she didn’t say anything further.  
  
“Am I in trouble, Ma’am?” Astrid asked, after a few moments.  
  
“No, of course not,” Kimberly said firmly. “Quite the opposite, in fact. By all accounts, you’re doing very well. I’m given to understand that the person overseeing your evaluation is extremely pleased with the results of the tests so far.”  
  
Astrid frowned uncertainly. “Do you mean Kieran, Ma’am?” she asked hesitantly.  
  
“Oh, he’s certainly very impressed with you,” Kimberly said, her smile broadening. That statement certainly seemed to be true as far as Andrew could tell. Not that truth was precisely a requirement here, of course, but why lie when you didn’t have to? Leaning forward a fraction — just enough to imply intimacy without encroaching into Astrid’s personal space — Kimberly lowered her voice a little as she continued. “But I was talking about the person in charge.”  
  
Andrew was always impressed by Kimberly’s ability to mislead with the truth. The only relevant metric for success here was data; the more of it, the better. Astrid had — both knowingly and unknowingly — provided them with a great deal of data so far. Andrew supposed that meant she was, technically, doing well.  
  
“Stress markers appear to be diminishing,” he murmured. Clearly, her strategy was working.  
  
“I see, Ma’am,” Astrid said quietly, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Then, may I ask: why did you come out here?”  
  
“I just wanted to check in with you, to see how things were going,” Kimberly said; another technical truth. “I’d been planning on stopping by at some point anyway, and when I heard about the tour, I thought now would be a good time.”  
  
The sensor readings indicated a brief spike in Astrid’s stress levels, which Andrew duly relayed. Kimberly sat back a little in her seat, her posture open and an expectant, yet pleasant, expression on her face. Andrew was a little envious of her ability to control her body language. Not that he was bad at it — in this field, it was a necessary skill, after all — but it seemed to come so naturally to her. Given the way Astrid was scrutinising her, though, that was probably a good thing.  
  
“You’re… sure I’m not in trouble, Ma’am?” Astrid asked. Andrew wondered if she was aware of the way she hunched her shoulders slightly, leaning back minutely, away from Kimberly, as if expecting to be struck. He suspected that it was an unconscious behaviour.  
  
“I’m sure,” Kimberly said. “You’re not in trouble, Astrid.” She paused briefly, presumably allowing Astrid the chance to process that, before lifting her eyebrows ever so slightly in an expression of polite curiosity. “Why did you think you might be?”  
  
Astrid frowned deeply, although the sensor readings suggested that she seemed to be substantially calmer now than when Kimberly had first arrived. Not that that was a particularly high bar to clear.  
  
“I scared those civilians, Ma’am,” she said, simply.  
  
 _Interesting word choice,_ he observed. Although it was certainly consistent with her militaristic demeanour and attitude.  
  
Kimberly tilted her head slightly, not-quite-mirroring Astrid’s earlier scrutiny of her as she studied the parahuman. “Was that intentional?” she asked, her tone merely curious.  
  
“No, Ma’am,” Astrid said swiftly, firmly, and — Andrew was reasonably certain — dishonestly. Perhaps the girl realised that her answer was less than convincing, because she immediately corrected it to: “Not really.”  
  
“Oh?” Kimberly said, without even a hint of judgement.  
  
Astrid eyed her cautiously and then sighed, her rigid posture easing a tiny amount. She still remained upright, her gaze focused on Kimberly, but at least the set of her shoulders no longer seemed like it must be actively painful to maintain.  
  
“I was… irritated, Ma’am,” she said softly. “Some of the tourists were expressing dissatisfaction with what they’d seen so far. At least one of them requested something ‘exciting.’ So I obliged them by atomising part of the road, briefly setting it on fire.” She sighed. “I wasn’t really aiming to scare them, not precisely. I just wanted to… to shut them up. To make them stop heckling me.” Hurriedly, she added: “But I wouldn’t have done that if I’d thought there was any danger of things going awry. I had it under control. And I certainly wouldn’t have hurt anyone deliberately. I-“ She broke off suddenly, uncertainty settling over her face, the sensor readings ticking upwards a little as she said: “I’m not trying to make excuses, Ma’am.”  
  
As before, she held herself as if she was expecting a blow. He wondered idly if she’d injured her abuser — most likely her father — during her trigger event, or perhaps afterwards. It certainly wouldn’t have surprised him to hear that she had.  
  
“I didn’t think you were, Astrid,” Kimberly assured her. “I can understand why you’d be irritated with the hecklers, but I don’t think you would have hurt them deliberately.” That was a… bold assertion. Andrew neither believed it, nor believed that Kimberly actually did so. He could see, however, why she’d judged it necessary to say such a thing. _Reassurance through emotional validation: one of the oldest tricks in the book._ “And,” Kimberly continued. “I’m sure you took all reasonable precautions to avoid doing so accidentally.”  
  
“I did, Ma’am,” Astrid said eagerly. “I ran the idea by Dr Bailey first, and he didn’t see any problems with it.”  
  
“She’s much calmer now,” Andrew reported. He supposed that meant this particular crisis had been averted. But as Kimberly smoothly guided the intervention to a natural-seeming conclusion, he couldn’t help wondering:  
  
 _How long until the next one?_

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kieran** _

 

“We call this the Show Home,” Kieran said, this time remembering not to fling his arm out towards the modest, unassuming three-storey building. “You’ll notice that it’s a little more elaborate than most of the structures we have out here.”  
  
“It’s not just a hollow concrete cube with window and door holes, you mean?” she said. The lightness of Astrid’s tone was belied a little by the cautious way she watched him but, even so, he chose to take the fact that she’d even attempt something approaching humour as a good sign.  
  
She’d seemed so down — not to mention jumpy — when he’d spoken to her about what she’d done to the road. That was why he hadn’t had the heart to say no when she’d asked if she could spend some time practicing with the metal in lieu of joining the others in the bunker. He was half-wondering if he should complain to Kimberly about the way the people playing the tourists had reacted. In his opinion, they’d gone way too far. It wasn’t like Astrid had just randomly lashed out with her powers. She’d put together a plan, taken reasonable safety precautions, and even run it by him first.  
  
 _Maybe I should have said no._  
  
But he’d been curious to see what would happen. Hell, if he’d seen something like that on a tour, he would’ve been delighted, not terrified.  
  
Fortunately, whatever Kimberly had said to Astrid during their little chat seemed to have worked wonders for her mood. And she’d definitely perked up when he’d told her it was time for the next batch of tests. He had been half-afraid she’d sink back into the doldrums, but apparently she hadn’t lost her enthusiasm for pushing the boundaries of her power.  
  
“Exactly,” he said, smiling at her, pleased when she relaxed fractionally and gave him a small smile in return. The Show Home actually did a pretty good impression of an actual house, albeit one with a rather peculiar location. “But the differences are more than just cosmetic. It’s more like the chamber Medical used for the sensory tests. The internal layout isn’t quite as customisable as that chamber, but we still can shift it around quite a bit. This is what we’re going to use to test whether you can shift focus to parts of a building that extend past its boundaries.”  
  
She seemed to perk up even more at that, studying the building with a keen gaze. “It’ll be good to establish whether I can do that,” she said. Dryly, she added. “Even better to find out without risking an aneurysm in the process.”  
  
He laughed. “I can see how that would be a weight off your mind,” he said, relieved beyond measure that — in direct contradiction to the evidence — she apparently did possess enough of a survival instinct not to risk incapacitating herself with a thinker headache.  
  
“Should I start now?” she asked, sounding eager.  
  
“Not yet,” he said. “Yas and Curtis are just giving everything a final once-over. As soon as they’re done, we can start.”  
  
She nodded. “If it’s going to be a few minutes, do you mind if I quickly check my phone?” she asked, a little hesitantly.  
  
“Of course I don’t mind,” he said. It was a sad state of affairs that he no longer felt bewildered that she’d even ask that, rather than just going ahead and doing so.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, heading off in the direction of the nearest bunker, where the others were currently holed up.  
  
 _Hopefully, Vincent has kept better track of her things this time._  
  
Kieran checked his own phone while he waited. A few messages. The usual small deluge of e-mails. Nothing urgent. Liam had updated his Facebook status several thousand times or so. Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. But only a slight one.  
  
“Alright,” came Yas’ voice. He looked up to see her striding through the open door, Curtis at her heels. “Everything is set up as we agreed. You want to check it over?”  
  
“No, that’s okay,” he said, smiling. “I trust you.”  
  
“Do we really have to hole up in the bunker?” Curtis asked. “I mean, this is just a thinker test, right? Astrid’s not actually going to be bringing the house down, or anything.”  
  
“That’s next, isn’t it?” murmured Yas.  
  
“Sorry, Curtis,” Kieran said, regretfully. “Those are the rules.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Curtis said phlegmatically, shrugging. “Just thought I’d ask.”  
  
He traipsed off towards the bunker, passing Astrid, who was just heading out. Yas remained with Kieran, as per the protocol.  
  
“Perfect timing,” Kieran greeted Astrid.  
  
“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” she said, giving him a worried frown.  
  
“Not at all,” he assured her. He took a breath, getting his thoughts in order. “Right,” he said. “First of all, I’d like you to touch the building and study it with your power. You don’t need fine detail for this, just an overview. Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” she said, striding forward to rest her hand on the wall.  
  
“Got it?” he asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Good.” He retrieved the notebook he’d fished out of a box in preparation for this, pulling out one of his many pens — well, one of the pens currently in his possession, at any rate — and walked towards her. “Can you please sketch out the layout? Again, it doesn’t have to be very detailed; we’re looking for the broad strokes here.”  
  
She nodded and accepted the pad and pen, quickly sketching out floor plans of each level. He noted that she mostly seemed to sketch from memory, only occasionally pausing to brush a hand lightly against the building, either for confirmation or to gather more detailed information.  
  
“I could model it if you want,” she said as she handed the pad back to him. “Like I did with the aerogel structure.”  
  
“By all means give it a go,” he said, more because she actually seemed eager to do it than because it was really necessary for this test. He was a little curious, though. And he was still in the stage of finding it really cool to see Astrid make something out of metal just by willing it. Presumably that thrill would fade with familiarity, as it had for other powers, but for the moment it was still new and shiny and so very cool.  
  
“You seem to like building things,” Yas commented, as Astrid retrieved the metal and took up a position next to the building once more.  
  
“I… suppose I do,” Astrid said. Her tone a little bit surprised and a whole lot wary, and the glance she gave Yas was edged with suspicion, like she was expecting a trap of some kind. Almost hurriedly, she added: “It’s a useful skill to have. Being able to make things out of metal. And practice definitely helps with my fine control.”  
  
Yas’ brows knit together in a confused-looking frown, and she stared at Astrid as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. Kieran had a feeling the look on his own face was very similar, although in his case the confusion was mixed with that now-familiar pang of sadness.  
  
“You realise you don’t have to justify enjoying something, right?” Yas said, her words brusque but not unkind.  
  
“I wasn’t,” Astrid muttered defensively, stiffening.  
  
Yas’ frown deepened, and she looked like she was going to say something else, but Kieran swiftly cut in.  
  
“How are you getting on with that model, Astrid?”  
  
“Almost done,” she said, relief in her eyes as she turned her attention to him. “I’m afraid it’s a little crude, but the important details are there. I made it wireframe, rather than solid, so you can see all the way through, but I can fill in the internal walls if you would prefer…”  
  
“What you’ve done is fine,” he said gently, smiling.  
  
“Looks accurate, as far as I can tell,” Yas said, having pulled up the floor plans on the laptop. She looked thoughtful. “I guess that could be useful if you ever have to make your way through a villain’s lair.”  
  
“I can sense the building layout, sure,” Astrid said. “But it won’t pick up any traps or obstacles that my power doesn’t count as part of the building.” She shrugged. “Still, it’s definitely better than nothing.”  
  
“Quite,” Kieran said, disturbed all over again at the utterly matter-of-fact way she talked about going up against villains. “Alright,” he said. “You’ve proved you can sense the building just fine. Can you identify the pipework within it?”  
  
Her gaze turned distant. “Yes. Hollow copper cylinders in the walls and flooring.” As she spoke, her model rearranged itself, filling in what he assumed were the pipes she was talking about.  
  
“Good,” he said, a little surprised. “Now please try extending your awareness through the pipes, past the boundaries of the building.”  
  
He was unsurprised when she shook her head, her lips tightening with what looked like frustration. “I’m sorry,” she said.  
  
“You don’t have to apologise,” he said. “I really wasn’t expecting that to work. I only asked you to try it for completeness’ sake. She gave him an uncertain smile, but remained silent. “Okay,” he said briskly, wondering if Yas felt as awkward as he suddenly did. “Let’s move inside.”  
  
He was a little surprised when the metal accompanied them, but he supposed he hadn’t actually asked Astrid to leave it outside. There didn’t seem much point in saying anything, though. It wouldn’t do any harm having it there.  
  
“We took off one of the wall panels so you can get to the pipes more easily,” Yas said to Astrid, pointing out the panel in question. “I figured we’d start with you touching the pipes themselves, and then you can try just touching a tap or something.” She glanced over her shoulder at Kieran, her eyebrows raised in enquiry. “That sound good to you, Kieran?”  
  
“Sure,” he said. He smiled at Astrid. “Whenever you’re ready, please touch one of the pipes, and let me know what you can sense.”  
  
“And stop if you feel a thinker headache coming on,” Yas added sternly. “We did isolate the system, but sometimes screwy things can happen with powers. So be careful.”  
  
“I have done this kind of thing before,” Astrid said a little impatiently. “I do know how to be careful.”  
  
“I’m not sure I believe that second part,” Yas muttered, to Kieran’s quiet horror. But Astrid didn’t seem to respond as badly as he’d feared, merely shooting Yas a narrow-eyed glower and then very pointedly turning her back. Yas smirked at the back of her head.  
  
“Yasmeena, I know Kimberly warned you about not provoking the stressed parahuman unnecessarily,” Andrew said reproachfully. “Although, surprisingly, as far as I can tell, you don’t seem to have stressed her out any more that she already was. Equally surprisingly, you don’t even seem to have angered her all that much. I suppose that’s something we should be thankful for.”  
  
 _I guess Kimberly hasn’t made it back to wherever Psych is based yet,_ Kieran mused.  
  
Andrew was certainly rather less polite about issuing directives than she was. In any case, while he’d been talking in their ears, Astrid had begun the test. She stood there like a statue, her hand resting on the pipe, the faintest of frowns on her face.  
  
“It’s just the same as before,” she said, seeming to slump a little. “I can only sense the pipes up to the boundaries of the building.”  
  
“Huh,” Kieran said. “Okay. Well, it’s not the end of the world.” Not that you’d know that to look at Astrid, who was the very picture of dejection. He kept his tone determinedly upbeat as he continued: “Let’s see what happens when you try your power on a pipe outside the house.”  
  
They traipsed outside again, the metal flowing along beside Astrid. Was more of it coiled around her arms and legs now than there had been before? He honestly wasn’t sure. He caught sight of Yas eyeing her askance, though; maybe she had been paying attention.  
  
“Here,” Yas said, pointing out where a pipe emerged through one wall. “Try that.”  
  
Without a word, Astrid reached out for the pipe. “That’s interesting,” she said, a moment later. “I can sense the pipe network, but only outside the house. My awareness of the pipes themselves stops dead at the walls.” She gestured absently at the metal by her side, which had started to extrude filaments that thickened into cables, forming into… Was that a model of the pipe system? As Astrid had said, there was a building-shaped hollow in the centre of it. “I wonder…” she murmured. Before Kieran could ask what it was she was wondering, she put her other hand on the wall. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Okay, now I can sense the building and the pipes,” she said. Sure enough, the gap at the centre of her model was filling in with a wire-frame outline of the building. “But they definitely feel like separate objects,” she continued.  
  
“Interesting,” Kieran murmured.  
  
“So, for the purposes of your power, something that counts as part of one object doesn’t count as part of another, even if they’re contiguous?” Yas mused.  
  
“It looks that way,” Astrid said. “I’d have to repeat it to be sure, but I think I’m inclined to tentatively accept that hypothesis for now.”  
  
Yas met Kieran’s eyes behind Astrid’s head and grinned, her eyes practically glittering with amusement. It wasn’t a mean-spirited amusement, though. It almost seemed approving.  
  
“That seems reasonable,” Kieran said. “We should probably repeat it a couple of times, though.”  
  
“Yes,” Astrid agreed.  
  
The result was the same each time, which was pretty much as Kieran had expected. Still, it was always worth checking these things.  
  
“Okay,” he said. “I think that’s everything we need from here. Time to move on.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kimberly** _

 

Kimberly leaned forward fractionally, her expression and tone sober, as befitting the next subject.  
  
“We’ve discussed the subject of violence a little, both directly and tangentially,” Kimberly began. “As a Ward, even if you’re not likely to have much direct involvement in violent incidents, there is a reasonable chance that you could end up witnessing the aftermath of such incidents.”  
  
It was a sad fact that a couple of parahumans could often respond to an emergency situation quicker than the emergency services could. Ideally, those parahumans would be Protectorate members, not Wards, but circumstances often didn’t cooperate with ideals. Sometimes, even seconds could make the difference between life and death, and the Wards were also trained in first aid: those facts often made for a simple equation.  
  
“I understand, Ma’am,” Astrid said gravely, her expression at least as serious as Kimberly’s.  
  
“You may be called on to render first aid to people who’ve been badly hurt,” Kimberly said. She paused a moment to give her words a chance to sink in, before continuing. “But you will be asked ahead of time if that’s something you’re comfortable with. If it isn’t, then I advise you to say so.” She softened her tone and expression slightly. “There’s no shame in that. Not everyone wants to be a doctor or a paramedic, after all. It certainly isn’t something that will be expected of you.”  
  
Not officially, at any rate, although Kimberly was painfully aware of the ways in which unofficial — and even unintentional — pressure could be applied to the young and eager to please. With Astrid, she strongly suspected it would take barely any pressure at all. Merely being asked would likely be enough.  
  
“I don’t have a problem with it, Ma’am,” Astrid said earnestly, hastily, leaning forward a little in her seat in her eagerness to convince Kimberly that she was willing to do what was asked of her.  
  
(By and large, Kimberly enjoyed her job, even the evaluations. She understood the reasons for doing things this way, and she knew how vital her part was, in the grand scheme of things. Like Astrid, she’d never had a problem doing what was necessary. Sometimes, though; occasionally, rarely… Although her determination didn’t falter, although she still accepted the necessity of what she was doing, sometimes the actuality of it left a sour taste in her mouth.)  
  
(This was one of those times.)  
  
Kimberly shifted her notebook around ever so slightly, turning it back to the perfect angle for writing notes.  
  
“How are you finding the first aid course so far?”  
  
“I think it’s going well, Ma’am,” Astrid said politely.  
  
Given that the instructor had recommended she move onto the advanced course, that seemed to be an accurate summation.  
  
Naturally, Astrid volunteered no further information, despite the pause Kimberly left before continuing with her next question.  
  
“Have you taken any first aid courses before?”  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid replied, after a short hesitation, her expression wary and her tone cautious.  
  
Given what Kimberly knew about Astrid’s experiences with first aid, that didn’t precisely come as a surprise.  
  
“And have you ever had occasion to use that knowledge?”  
  
There was a slightly longer pause, in which the wariness was replaced by the studied neutrality that seemed to be Astrid’s default response to stress. Sure enough, Andrew’s voice was soft in her ear, telling her of the pulse spike reported by the sensors.  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” Astrid said, her words precise, her tone flat.  
  
“Will you tell me about it?” Kimberly kept her own voice soft; deliberately not pushing.  
  
“There’s not much to tell, Ma’am,” Astrid said. “Sometimes people get hurt, that’s all.”  
  
 _Passive phrasing. Interesting._  
  
“Have you ever seen someone seriously hurt? Or even killed?” Kimberly asked.  
  
For a brief moment, Astrid was so still that Kimberly wasn’t sure she was even breathing. But then she swallowed quietly, her head bowing for a brief moment before she met Kimberly’s gaze again, something that looked a lot like grief in her eyes.  
  
Kimberly noted the clear signs of trauma. That could be potentially be an issue if she actually did encounter such things during the course of performing her duties as a Ward. Much though everyone concerned hoped that wouldn’t happen.  
  
“Yes, Ma’am,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kimberly said, and a whole host of expressions flickered over Astrid’s face, one after the other, too fast to properly categorise. Anger, for sure. Sadness, maybe. But the one that remained after the rest had guttered and died was stark, uncomprehending confusion.  
  
“Why?” Astrid asked bluntly, her gaze sharp as she studied Kimberly. A beat later, she flinched and said: “I mean: why, Ma’am?”  
  
Kimberly considered gently reminding Astrid that it wasn’t necessary for her to use the honorific at all, let alone every single time she spoke, but judged it would likely only increase her distress, rather than alleviating it. Instead, she addressed Astrid’s question.  
  
“I regret that you experienced something like that,” she said simply. _And at such a young age,_ she didn’t say. (Even the thought of it made her feel faintly queasy, but then she’d never done well with blood. Not even in a laboratory setting. There was, after all, more than one reason why she’d shied away from the more visceral scientific disciplines in favour of the science of the mind.) Not for the first time, she wished fruitlessly that Astrid’s team leader had included more information about the incident in his report, but she knew that wasn’t fair. He likely didn’t know anything more than what he’d shared.  
  
 _Yet another subject for the counsellors, I fear…_  
  
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Astrid said politely, although from the way her forehead was still creased in a puzzled frown, Kimberly honestly doubted that she truly understood.  
  
“Alright,” she said briskly. “Let’s move on.”  
  
Astrid sagged minutely with what looked like relief.  
  
If she was relieved, she certainly wasn’t the only one.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kieran** _

 

“You… want me to destroy it?” Astrid asked carefully, searching Kieran’s face as if she thought she’d misheard him. “The whole building?”  
  
The building in question was a simple one-storey structure; a large hollow concrete cube with a few internal walls and rectangular spaces to indicate where windows and doors would go if this was a real house. It was much cruder than the Show Home, which was a permanent feature of the Range. Then again, the two structures were designed with very different purposes in mind.  
  
“Yes,” he said, wondering if this had been a mistake. But she had seemed to think that she could do such a thing and, well, it was worth testing. It was certainly the kind of thing that was best discovered under controlled conditions, rather than something that happened by accident when she was in the middle of a populated area. “Is that a problem?”  
  
“No. No, not at all,” she said hurriedly. “I just wanted to make sure, that’s all.” To his surprise, she actually gave him a wry smile. “Because it’s highly unlikely there’ll be any fixing that shit once I’m done breaking it. Not even if you brought in all the kings horses and all the king’s men.”  
  
He laughed, both surprised and pleased by her apparent cheer. “Don’t worry,” he told her. “It was made specifically for you to break.” She blinked at him like she was waiting for the punch line. “We have access to a lot of useful tech out here,” he explained. “Side-benefit of working with so many tinkers. Turns out some of it comes in pretty handy for expediting construction and repair. That building you’re going to wreck? Wasn’t there yesterday.”  
  
Astrid looked at it, frowning thoughtfully as she stretched out a hand to brush her fingers against the wall. “I wouldn’t have known that,” she said softly. “How does this… construction tech work?”  
  
“Pretty well, apparently,” Kieran murmured dryly. “But I honestly have no idea about the mechanics of it, more’s the pity. As far as we can tell, this stuff is indistinguishable from ordinary concrete once it’s set. But it sets way faster than it should.” He shrugged. “Makes quite a difference to Range turnaround times.”  
  
“And if we could figure out how to replicate it, it would be so useful for rebuilding in the aftermath of Endbringers and other disasters,” Curtis piped up enthusiastically. “Not to mention patching up the collateral damage of cape fights. Unfortunately…” He shrugged, the gesture an eloquent one.  
  
Admittedly, they’d have more of a chance of figuring out how it worked if they could actually take it apart, but, well, the facility needed it in working order. And the tinker who made it was temperamental enough that they didn’t want to piss him off by dismantling something he’d put together specifically for them. Plus, there was the fact that they’d been officially forbidden from doing anything that may compromise the device’s function. So, for the moment at least, it remained a highly useful curiosity.  
  
“But we’re getting a little side-tracked,” Kieran said. “The point is, this building is only here to be destroyed. If not by you, Astrid, then by the next cape who gets to use the Range for target practice. So, knock yourself out.”  
  
“Not literally,” Curtis said, grinning. “Don’t bring it down on your head or anything.”  
  
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Astrid murmured, rolling her eyes.  
  
“More seriously,” Kieran said firmly, giving Curtis a quelling look which appeared to have no effect whatsoever. “There are a number of safety precautions we have to take. First of all, reduce it to dust, not to solid chunks. But do not atomise it.”  
  
She was already nodding. “That won’t be a problem,” she said, confidently. He really hoped that confidence wasn’t misplaced. He didn’t think it was, but he couldn’t help worrying.  
  
“Second,” he continued. “I want you to leave the wall you’re touching intact. Destroy everything but that wall. Do you think you can manage that?”  
  
“Yes, I should be able to,” she said, perhaps a touch less certain than before, but still confident.  
  
“Third, you’re going to be on comms for this.” Curtis obligingly handed her a device like the one they were all wearing. She accepted it, examining it briefly.  
  
“Is the channel pre-set?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” he replied, and she nodded. Before he could explain what to do with it, she’d already fitted, activated and tested out the unit. “I guess your training already covered comms gear,” he murmured.  
  
She nodded slowly. “It’s not complicated,” she said.  
  
“Good.” Recovering his train of thought, he continued: “We’ll be monitoring things remotely, and if I tell you to run, you run straight for the bunker. No questions, no arguments; just move. Okay?”  
  
“Understood,” she said briskly. Perhaps his concern was obvious, because she studied him for a moment, and then gave him a smile. Her tone was oddly reassuring as she told him: “I know how to follow orders.”  
  
And now the lump was back in his throat again. Pushing the pangs of sadness aside as best as he could, he ran through his mental checklist, figuring out what he still had to go over.  
  
“Even with the wall acting as a shield, there’s a risk the dust might spread,” he said. “So you’ll need to wear goggles and a face mask. Plus a hard hat, just in case of more solid debris.” He took a breath. “Okay. I think that’s everything. Do you have any questions?”  
  
She considered for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. It all seems fairly straightforward. I do have a request, though. Could I please use some of the metal?”  
  
“What for?” he asked, surprised.  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, she replied: “If there are any larger pieces of debris, I can use it to block them. Like I did with the foam balls, earlier.”  
  
“Oh,” he said. “Well, sure.” There wasn’t any harm in it, he supposed. And the bright smile she gave him in response was easily reason enough all by itself for him to say yes.  
  
“Thank you,” she said. Rolling up her sleeves, she strode towards the metal block and placed both hands on it. A moment or two later, she was wearing a new — and heavy-looking — pair of metal bracers.  
  
“Alright,” Kieran said, trying not to stare at her new accessories. “Let’s get you that safety gear…”  
  
A short while later, he and Curtis were ensconced in the bunker with the rest of the team.  
  
“It’ll be fine, Kieran,” Yas said, after taking one look at him. Her mouth twisted in a wry smirk, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Try not to fret so much. I’m sure it can’t be good for your health.”  
  
“I’m not fretting,” he muttered, ignoring her disbelieving snort to activate his comms. “Okay, Astrid,” he said. “Go ahead whenever you’re ready.”  
  
“Acknowledged,” Astrid replied crisply, her voice a little muffled by the mask and reached out to touch the wall in front of her. At first, it seemed like nothing happened. A moment later, though, with a loud ‘whoomph’ noise, everything but that wall was replaced by a rapidly-expanding cloud of dust. Astrid, and that now free-standing wall, were quickly obscured from view.  
  
 _Huh,_ Kieran thought. He checked the readouts from the sensors that had been on the building, and… nothing. No data. The ones from the intact wall were still active, but the rest had just disappeared. _Guess they counted as part of the ‘object.’_  
  
“Imagine if she’d atomised that,” Melanie said, a faintly awed expression on her face.  
  
“I’d rather not,” Eliot murmured, shuddering.  
  
“It… could still go up,” Curtis said. “I mean, dust explosions are a thing, and that’s a lot of dust. If there was a spark…”  
  
“It’s spreading out pretty quickly, though,” Yasmeena said. “So, it’s probably not dense enough for rapid oxidation without help.”  
  
 _Still,_ Kieran thought, concerned. _Better safe than sorry._ He activated his comms.  
  
“Astrid, how are you doing out there?” he asked.  
  
“Status optimal,” she said cheerfully, if a little breathlessly. “Objective achieved.”  
  
“I can see that,” he murmured, a little taken aback by her response. “Please come into the bunker. I’ll call out the fire team to hose down the area. When the dust has settled, we’ll get on with the tests.”  
  
“Acknowledged. Out.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Vincent** _

 

A small cloud of dust accompanied Astrid into the bunker before she closed the door behind her. Vincent strolled forth to meet her, smiling wryly as he proffered a cloth and a bottle of water.  
  
“Welcome back,” he said. “You look like you could use these.”  
  
Certainly, her clothes were positively caked in dust. Although, now that he was closer, he was somewhat startled to see that her hair was still an unbesmirched blonde, even where it hadn’t been covered by the hard hat. And when she lifted off her grey-caked mask and goggles, her skin was as clear and clean as if she’d just stepped out of the shower.  
  
“Thanks,” she said, smiling back at him as she accepted the cloth and water. “Do you know what I should do with the safety gear?”  
  
“Let me take those off your hands,” Curtis said. “The mask is disposable, but I’ll clean off the goggles and hat and put them away.”  
  
“I can do that,” Astrid said, much to Vincent’s confusion. _Why would anyone volunteer for menial tasks when they don’t have to?_ Not that he minded the miscellaneous fetching, carrying and tidying duties that came with his internship, but those were part of his job. He certainly wouldn’t offer to take on more.  
  
“That’s okay, I’ve got it,” Curtis assured her, cheerfully. “Although, since you don’t seem to need it, do you mind if I steal that cloth? Useful trick, by the way.”  
  
She shrugged. “Nothing non-living touches me if I don’t want it to.” The words were spoken lightly, but with a bitter edge. “But sure, it’s all yours.”  
  
Vincent watched Astrid for a moment as she handed the cloth and safety gear over to Curtis, noting the oddly bleak look in her eyes. He wondered what dark turn her thoughts had taken, and if it had anything to do with her trigger event. Was there a connection between her power and her personal space issues? He wouldn’t be surprised.  
  
For his part, Curtis had a thoughtful expression on his face as he juggled everything into a convenient carrying position.  
  
“Thanks,” he said absently. “So, when you said nothing touches you unless you let it, does that include water?”  
  
“Yes, apparently,” she said. “Although I only realised that one during the tests with the liquids and gases earlier.” She shook her head, frowning a little. “I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before. It seems so obvious now that I think about it.”  
  
Curtis shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t see these things until they’re pointed out,” he said cheerfully. “Even really obvious things. But at least you know now. And , on the plus side, I guess you never have to bother with towels and hair dryers ever again. At least not when you’re on your own or around other capes.”  
  
“I guess not,” Astrid said, giving him a small smile.  
  
“Actually,” he said, his eyes widening a little. “Do you even need to bother with showers any more? I mean, if you can get rid of anything touching your skin and hair…”  
  
“I… hadn’t really thought about that,” Astrid said, looking a little startled. “I guess I don’t. Technically.” Then, to Vincent’s surprise and dismay, her face crumpled into an expression of distress. “But I like showers,” she said plaintively.  
  
Vincent’s heart went out to her, even though the reason for her upset escaped him.  
  
“No one’s saying you have to stop showering,” he said, giving her his very best reassuring smile. “There’s nothing wrong with doing something purely for your own enjoyment.”  
  
He wasn’t sure precisely what response he’d been expecting — a rueful grin, perhaps; a sheepish admission that she was being a little dramatic — but she just stared at him as if he’d started speaking in tongues.  
  
“Right,” she said, but it sounded more like she was humouring him than anything else. A moment later, though, her eyes brightened. “Anyway,” she continued, sounding a little relieved. “Showers — especially tepid ones — are pretty good for taking down swelling and helping bruises to heal quicker. So I guess they still have their uses.”  
  
Vincent couldn’t quite reconcile her pleased tone and cheerful demeanour with the words coming out of her mouth. He knew he should say something — if for no other reason than to head off someone else saying something unwise. He was just having a little trouble thinking of something to say.  
  
“Helps with training injuries, right?” Nick asked, his tone as casual as if he was merely discussing the weather.  
  
 _Training injuries? Was that how she got hurt? Training?_  
  
That seemed rather odd. He assumed they hadn’t been referring to Wards training, because that made no sense. So, they must have been talking about whatever combat training she’d had previously. It was clear from her sparring match with Nick and ‘Bob’ that she’d had some manner of instruction in how to fight. (And she’d clearly taken to those much better than he had to the self-defence lessons his parents had insisted he take, once upon a time. Fortunately, that phase hadn’t seemed to last long.)  
  
He glanced over in Nick’s direction and promptly wished he hadn’t when he got an eyeful of those awful scars. His instinct was to tear his gaze away, but he stopped himself with an effort of will. He might not be able to control how he felt, but he could control how he acted, and he certainly wasn’t going to be rude to the man. No matter how much his stomach roiled queasily at the sight. Belatedly, he realised that the reason the scars were standing out like that was because Nick’s mouth was twisted into a wry half-smile. Despite the smile, though, and the carelessness of his tone, the look in his eyes was hard.  
  
But he wouldn’t want Nick to think that he was staring: that would be as rude as recoiling in horror.  
  
It was with a not inconsiderable amount of relief that Vincent turned his attention back to Astrid.  
  
“Yes,” she agreed, looking Nick dead in the eyes. She shrugged, the movement sending a miniature dust cloud puffing into the air. “You know how it is.”  
  
“Yeah,” Nick murmured. “I think I do.”  
  
For a brief moment, the set of his mouth was closer to a snarl than a smile. In combination with the hardness in his eyes, it gave him a positively murderous air. A beat later, though, it was gone. From the uncertain way Astrid was studying Nick, she’d clearly noticed that flicker of anger. Vincent could certainly empathise with her disquiet. Not that he thought it had been directed at anyone here, least of all Astrid, but, wheelchair or not, it had been more than a little intimidating.  
  
(He tried not to speculate on the reasons for that anger.)  
  
“Are you okay?” she asked, a small frown line forming between her eyes.  
  
(Distantly, he noted that she should probably be careful about frowning too often. It wasn’t an issue now, with her youthful complexion, but a decade or two down the line… It was never too soon to start looking after your appearance, after all.)  
  
“Fine,” he drawled, rolling his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “Just dusty in here.” He pulled a face, and Vincent tried not to note that that expression was even worse than the smile had been. “I swear I can taste the stuff.”  
  
 _Does he really think that excuse would convince anyone?_  
  
His anger hadn’t precisely been subtle, after all. Astrid gave Nick a narrow-eyed, assessing look — it seemed she also found his explanation less than convincing — but apparently decided not to press the issue.  
  
“Sorry,” she said cheerfully, and then grimaced as she glanced down at her dust-caked attire. “I’m going to have to do something about this.”  
  
“And I should get these seen to,” Curtis said absently, brandishing the protective gear in his hands. He bustled off towards a table.  
  
“I take it you can’t clean your clothes the same way you can clean yourself?” Vincent asked Astrid, mainly for something to say.  
  
“Not easily,” she said. “I can remove something like a fresh stain which has clear boundaries, without too much difficulty. If it’s something that’s ground in, though, it takes a certain amount of concentration to separate it from the cloth. I could probably still do it, but it’s not really worth the effort.” Her lips curved into a wry smile. “Nor the risk of accidentally shredding my clothes.”  
  
He laughed. “Yes, I can see why you’d want to be careful,” he said.  
  
“Would you hold my water, please?” she asked.  
  
“Of course,” he said, accepting it from her when she held it out.  
  
Even as he laughed and spoke lightly, part of him was still puzzling over her odd behaviour and remarks. A quick glance around the room showed that he wasn’t alone in that. At least, not if their expressions were anything to go by. Dr Ross, apparently, also took note of that fact.  
  
“Please don’t pursue the subject of Astrid’s injuries,” she said quietly. It was a relief to have her voice back in his ear in place of Andrew’s. Not that he didn’t like Andrew, because he did. But the man could be a little brusque at times.  
  
Pushing aside his questions for the moment — not that he would have actually asked them, but if they weren’t at the forefront of his mind there was less chance of them influencing his behaviour and demeanour — he reflected instead on the fact that Astrid seemed to have forgiven him for losing track of her bag earlier. Not that he understood why she was quite so insistent that he watch over it. The only other people here were the members of the evaluation team, and none of those really struck him as the sort who would rifle through another person’s things without permission. And it wasn’t as though anyone else could just stroll in here and poke around. Anyway, the only things she had in there were her phone, some books and a lump of metal; nothing that couldn’t be replaced easily enough. But she’d seemed really… put out, expressing her displeasure in a tightly controlled tone that gave him such a feeling of déjà vu he half-expected to see his mother standing there before him. It had honestly been quite surreal. And a little tiny bit nerve-wracking when she’d briefly started to clench her hands into fists. He didn’t really think she would have attacked him physically, but there had been a split second when he just hadn’t been certain.  
  
But then she’d sighed heavily, her hands had uncurled and she’d simply told him to be more careful in future. The moment had passed without incident, and his perfect record remained unbroken.  
  
Still, it was good that she didn’t seem to be holding a grudge.  
  
Perhaps he should have been offended at being told off by a girl several years his junior but, honestly, he just took it as a sign that he’d been playing his role well. Despite her age, though, she could be quite intimidating when she wanted to be. And that was even without taking her powers into account. With her powers…  
  
He glanced over to where her bag was neatly tucked away beneath a table, reassuring himself that it was still there where he could keep an eye on it.  
  
Astrid proceeded to brush herself down as best as she could, sending another small avalanche of dust puffing into the air. Vincent coughed a little as he inhaled some of it, retreating to a safer distance.  
  
“Sorry.” She gave him a rueful grin. “This stuff’s so fine-grained. The slightest breeze or disturbance, and it just goes everywhere.”  
  
“Maybe we should have the fire team hose you down,” Yasmeena said, smirking, proving that the directives from both Andrew and Dr Ross had simply gone in one ear and out the other. Or maybe she was just trying to lighten the mood. In any event, Vincent prepared himself to carry out damage control if necessary.  
  
“Maybe I should have left you stuck in confoam,” Astrid retorted. But her words didn’t emerge in the near-growl he would have expected and, although she didn’t exactly smile, there was something that looked a lot like amusement dancing in her eyes. Maybe damage control wouldn’t be necessary after all. Despite the brief blip a few moments ago, she did generally seem to be in a fairly good mood. Vincent supposed she must have been pleased that she’d unequivocally ‘achieved her objective’ for this task.  
  
Yasmeena raised her eyebrows but, with an uncharacteristic display of common sense, merely said: “I’m glad you didn’t. It would have put a serious crimp in my plans for the rest of the day.”  
  
“You should be thankful we didn’t have to break out the solvent,” Nick said, having apparently managed to recover his usual humour. Or, at least, to do a good impression of it. “That stuff takes ages to wash off. I’m told it’s a real pain if you have long hair. Oh, and it leaves you smelling like artificial cherries for days afterwards.”  
  
“Artificial cherries?” Yasmeena asked, looking at Nick like she wasn’t entirely sure whether to believe him.  
  
He shrugged. “I guess they got complaints about the smell at first, or something, and added a scent. Or maybe that’s just the way it smells. Either way, it’s really fucking annoying.”  
  
“You’ve been foamed before?” Astrid asked Nick, giving him a curious look.  
  
He nodded. “All the PRT troops get foamed at least once or twice during training. Ostensibly it’s to make sure we don’t panic if it happens out in the field, but I think it’s really so the training officers can have a good laugh at the trainees’ expense. It was certainly pretty damn hilarious when I got to watch it from the other side.” His voice taking on an amused note, he added: “Actually, come to think about it, they do the same to the Protectorate and Wards capes too, and for the same reason. So you’ve got that to look forward to. Not that it’s really going to be a problem for you, of course.”  
  
“Thanks for the heads up anyway,” she murmured, and then paused, her expression turning speculative. “I wonder if the rest of the team will be around for that.”  
  
“Why?” Nick asked, tilting his head curiously.  
  
Astrid shrugged. “I, ah, may have gotten myself into a prank war with one of my team mates.” Her lips curved in a small, fierce grin, her tone exceedingly dry as she continued: “It would be a terrible, terrible shame if the confoam was to end up spreading a little further than intended, and he got stuck in it.”  
  
“Yes, a terrible shame,” Nick said, just as dryly.  
  
Vincent kept his surprise from his face. He would have thought Astrid far too serious and driven a girl to get involved in anything so frivolous as a ‘prank war.’ He just hoped that she and her fellow Ward remembered to keep the focus on the first part of that and not the second. The kind of havoc two competitive parahumans could wreak if something like that got out of hand simply didn’t bear thinking about. Especially given the feats of destruction Astrid could manage all by herself.  
  
“Just out of curiosity,” Vincent said. “Which of your team mates are you warring with?”  
  
“Clockblocker,” she said, a whole wealth of feeling in that one word.  
  
With a little thought, Vincent supposed he might have guessed that. Anyone who would choose a name like ‘Clockblocker’ — he’d assumed he must have misread it when he’d first come across it while researching Brockton Bay — had to have something that passed for a sense of humour.  
  
Or, at least, to think they did.  
  
“And who started it?” Yasmeena asked.  
  
It was obvious what Astrid was going to say when her cheeks flushed pink, a guilty expression settling on her face. Despite her clear discomfiture, she lifted her chin and looked Yasmeena dead in the eyes as she said:  
  
“Technically, I did.”  
  
“Thought only people in a losing position got hung up on technicalities,” Nick murmured, earning himself a glower for his troubles.  
  
“What happened?” Yasmeena looked thoroughly amused.  
  
“If you don’t mind telling us, that is,” Melanie interrupted, elbowing Yasmeena none too gently in the side. She smiled at Astrid. “Yas can be awfully nosy sometimes. Don’t mind her.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Astrid said, her expression softening as she smiled back at Melanie. “But it’s really not that exciting. Clockblocker was being an asshole, so I stuck his feet to the floor. He said he was going to have to retaliate; I told him to bring it. He froze me in time for a few minutes.” She shrugged. “I guess that means it’s my move.”  
  
 _All that power, and they’re using it for practical jokes,_ Vincent thought, wonderingly. _Parahumans or not, I guess they are still adolescents._  
  
“I love the casual way you just say ‘he froze me in time,’ like it was nothing out of the ordinary,” Melanie said, shaking her head. “You certainly seem to have gotten used to the whole powers thing pretty quickly.”  
  
Vincent was a little surprised that someone who worked with capes on a day to day basis would remark on someone else treating such things casually. He’d been assuming that they must find parahumans and their abilities so terribly ordinary by now. Well, perhaps not Kieran, but then he did seem to tend towards passionate enthusiasm about pretty much everything that caught his interest.  
  
Perhaps Vincent could talk to Melanie about it at some point; try to get a better feel for how the group worked. Information, after all, was always valuable.  
  
“What choice do I have?” Astrid said, simply, her words drawing him from his musings. “This is my life now. Freaking the fuck out isn’t going to change anything, so I might as well just get on with it.”  
  
“That’s a very practical way of looking at things,” Vincent said carefully, watching closely for any sign of a negative reaction to his words. Fortunately, Astrid seemed to take them in her stride.  
  
“Like I said,” she replied, shrugging. “I don’t exactly have a choice.”  
  
Silence followed that somewhat bleak statement. Vincent judged he’d better step in before this got awkward. _Even more awkward._  
  
“So,” he said brightly. “Aside from potentially covering Clockblocker in containment foam, do you have any more ideas for retaliatory pranks?”  
  
“A couple,” she said, perking up visibly. “Today has certainly helped with that, I suppose.”  
  
“Glad we could be of use,” Nick drawled. He paused — no, hesitated, Vincent realised — uncertainty briefly flickering in his eyes before he continued. “You could always ask Marlene for ideas. She’s always been fond of a good prank or three.” He grimaced. “Although hers can sometimes have a cruel bent. Like, say, swapping out a man’s coffee for decaf several mornings in a row.”  
  
“That’s just mean,” Astrid murmured, wincing a little despite the note of appreciation in her voice. “So maybe I will ask her for advice.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Although, I have the impression she gets on well with Clockblocker. Do you really think she’d help me fuck with him?”  
  
Nick snorted. “If you think being friends with someone means Marlene won’t prank the everliving shit out of them — or help someone else do so — then you really don’t know her at all. I’d even go so far as to say she likes fucking with her friends almost as much as she likes fucking with her enemies.”  
  
Idly, Vincent noted that, like Astrid, Nick seemed fairly comfortable with profanity. He assumed that PR would want Astrid to clean up her speech somewhat if she was going to be interacting with the public. Although, given how she’d reacted to the audience earlier, perhaps there were other issues that PR would focus their attentions on before they got around to her mode of speaking.  
  
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Astrid murmured. She glanced at Yasmeena, who was eyeing her with a distinctly speculative air. “What are you looking at me like that for?” she asked suspiciously.  
  
“Oh, just wondering,” Yasmeena said, with the kind of innocent air that, in Vincent’s experience, generally meant it was about time to start worrying.  
  
“Wondering what?” From the sharpness of her tone and the way her eyes narrowed warily, Astrid also found Yasmeena’s demeanour concerning.  
  
“What did Clockblocker do to earn your wrath?”  
  
Astrid’s frown deepened. “I told you: he was being an asshole.”  
  
“Yes, but how?” Yasmeena said. “What did he do, specifically? I’m curious.”  
  
Astrid glowered a little uncertainly at her. Vincent wasn’t sure whether she would actually answer the question. Certainly, she seemed a little ill at ease. Despite his own curiosity on the subject, Vincent prepared to intervene.  
  
 _Although,_ he mused. _She can’t be that uncomfortable, or Dr Ross would have said something._  
  
Perhaps the psychologists were also curious. After all, he supposed that the way Astrid interacted with her fellow Wards was also a subject of interest to them.  
  
“Apparently, he really likes trying to fluster me,” Astrid snapped suddenly, her cheeks reddening. “Because he finds it fucking ‘adorable’ when I blush, stammer and generally make a complete fucking idiot of myself.”  
  
The quotation marks around the word ‘adorable’ were practically audible. And the utter disdain with which it was pronounced was almost a palpable thing. Vincent kept the amusement from his face only by dint of practice and effort.  
  
Most of the others didn’t even try.  
  
“The monster,” Yasmeena deadpanned, still smirking.  
  
“He just wouldn’t shut up!” Astrid continued, apparently warming to her subject. “Every fucking time there was an opportunity to make a bad joke or a worse innuendo, there he was! Smirking! Fucking laughing at me.” She shook her head, her face twisting into an expression of utter disgust. “So very goddamned annoying,” she muttered.  
  
Vincent glanced around at the others. Yasmeena’s smirk broadened and her expression seemed almost delighted as she studied Astrid. Melanie was biting her lip, apparently a hair’s breath away from open laughter. Nick wasn’t smiling — thankfully — but his eyes were sparkling with clear amusement. Kieran, like Melanie, seemed to at least be making a token effort not to look like he was laughing at Astrid, but he was practically radiating fond amusement as he pretended to focus his attention on his laptop. Curtis was glancing over in their direction with a faintly confused expression, as if he wasn’t sure what was going on. Eliot, interestingly, was looking at Astrid like she’d just grown a second head.  
  
“Well, I suppose you can’t like everybody,” Vincent said philosophically, hoping to keep Astrid from realising that the majority of the people here were amused by her rather vehement reaction. Somehow, he didn’t think she’d respond well if she thought she was the subject of hilarity, regardless of the fact that it was in no way malicious.  
  
He’d been intending to offer some reassurance to the effect that the situation would undoubtedly improve in time, but before he could do so Astrid gave him the most peculiar look.  
  
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him, I said he was an asshole,” she corrected, somewhat bafflingly.  
  
“Isn’t that the same thing?” he asked, frowning a little.  
  
“Apparently not,” she said dryly, and he had the feeling she was entertained by his obvious confusion.  
  
“So, does that mean you do like him?” Melanie asked, her eyes bright with the humour that she was making a creditable effort at not broadcasting quite so blatantly as certain people not a million miles away from here.  
  
“I guess,” Astrid said in a careless tone, shrugging. “When he’s not being too annoying.”  
  
“But do you **like** him?” Yasmeena pressed, looking very much like the cat that ate the canary.  
  
Astrid stared at her in blank incomprehension. “Huh?”  
  
“You know,” Yasmeena said slyly. “He really seems to have made an impression on you, and a strong one at that. I’m just wondering if there’s a little more to it than just annoyance.”  
  
“What?” Astrid’s eyes flew wide open, the blush staining her cheeks rapidly starting to darken and spread. “You just-“ Breaking off whatever she’d been about to say, she made an inarticulate noise and flung her hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation. “For fuck’s sake!” she almost yelped. “You’re as bad as he is!”  
  
(Vincent took note of the way Eliot flinched minutely at Astrid’s gesture. He assumed Andrew and Kimberly did, as well.)  
  
Yasmeena laughed, which clearly did not win her any points with Astrid. “Guess I struck a nerve,” she drawled.  
  
Apparently briefly lost for words, Astrid just glared daggers at Yasmeena who, perhaps unwisely, seemed not at all bothered by the fact that she was angering a parahuman who could destroy the building around them with a single thought.  
  
 _Worse,_ he thought, a little apprehensively. _She could atomise it._  
  
Not that he really thought she would, but he couldn’t help wondering why no one from Psychology had spoken up. Maybe Astrid wasn’t as angry as she looked. (Maybe Dr Ross just wanted to see what she would do.)  
  
In the end, though, all Astrid actually did was draw herself up to her full height, look very pointedly down at Yasmeena and, with great dignity, proclaim:  
  
“You can go fuck yourself. Sideways. With a shovel.”  
  
Melanie made the cutest little hiccup as she tried valiantly not to laugh, but Vincent was watching Yasmeena and Astrid too closely to be able to spare her much more than a quick glance. Would Yasmeena be offended, or…?  
  
 _And, she’s just smirking even more. Of course she is._  
  
Apparently you really did need to have your survival instincts removed to work in this field.  
  
Yasmeena started to say something else — something inflammatory, no doubt — but Kieran spoke right over her, the sound of his voice making Vincent start a little when it came from just behind him.  
  
“I think that’s enough of that,” he said quellingly. Apparently, he’d gotten to his feet while Vincent was focused on Astrid and Yasmeena. When Vincent glanced in his direction, he saw that Kieran seemed to be focusing his stern look on Yasmeena, who appeared completely unmoved. Astrid, however, had gone very still, watching Kieran with a kind of blank-faced wariness.  
  
“I’m sorry, S-, Kieran,” she said woodenly.  
  
Kieran looked at her, his expression briefly dismayed before he recovered his composure enough to manage some semblance of a smile.  
  
“I didn’t mean you, Astrid,” he said kindly. “Believe me, I can completely understand the sentiment.” He gave Yasmeena a reproachful look. She sighed heavily.  
  
“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll shut up.” Despite her put-upon air, Vincent noticed that the glance she shot Astrid’s way was concerned, her brows drawing together in a frown. She hesitated briefly, and Vincent thought she might say something to Astrid, but in the end she apparently changed her mind. To Kieran, she said: “Has there been any word from the fire team about how long it’s going to take them to damp down the concrete cloud-kill out there?”  
  
“It’s likely to be another few minutes yet before they give the all-clear,” he said, after a moment. “So we’d best make ourselves comfortable, I suppose.”  
  
Astrid seemed to draw in on herself slightly. “I didn’t mean to hold up the tests,” she said softly. “I didn’t realise the dust would spread so fast, or so far.” She aimed for a smile and missed, her expression looking forced and awkward as she added: “I’ve never dusted anything that big before.”  
  
“It’s really not your fault,” Kieran told her, his voice gentle. “These things happen. Anyway, I was the one who asked you to destroy the building.” Clearly aiming for levity, he added: “I’m hardly going to blame you for just doing what you were told.”  
  
Astrid stared at him silently for a few moments — Vincent wondered if Kieran was at all unnerved by being on the receiving end of that scrutiny — and then shrugged.  
  
“Okay,” she said, simply. To Vincent’s ears, it sounded like an empty acknowledgement edged with cynicism, rather than any kind of genuine acceptance, but it seemed to satisfy Kieran, who nodded with apparent relief.  
  
“Good,” he said.  
  
“Hey, Astrid,” Yasmeena said.  
  
“What?” Astrid replied, cautiously.  
  
“I was only having a bit of fun with you. I’m sorry if I actually pissed you off for real.” Yasmeena gave her a rueful grin. “Please don’t stick me to anything.”  
  
Astrid gave her a narrow-eyed, suspicious glare, and then, abruptly, grinned. Vincent wondered idly if her moods were usually this mercurial, or if it was just the stress of the day on top of all her recent… troubles.  
  
(He tried not to think about what those troubles might have involved.)  
  
“You probably don’t have to worry about getting your feet stuck to the floor,” she said. “Being dropped through it, maybe, but I’ll try to resist the urge. And if the confoam dispenser above us was to suffer an unfortunate malfunction, you can rest assured it almost certainly won’t have anything to do with me.”  
  
“That’s… good to know, I guess,” Yasmeena said dubiously, casting a wary glance at the ceiling.  
  
Vincent followed the direction of her gaze, wondering where the dispenser was. He couldn’t see anything obvious, just a sprinkler system. Unless that was it. But…  
  
“Is there really a confoam dispenser up there?” Eliot asked, a little hesitantly.  
  
“There are two, actually,” Astrid said. “The other one’s over there.” She pointed to another spot on the ceiling, where there was some exposed pipework. “With the way it expands, I’d estimate either tank on its own probably holds enough foam to fill the entire bunker, but a degree of redundancy makes sense, especially when dealing with parahumans of unknown capabilities.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face, and she turned to Nick, raising her eyebrows quizzically. “Does confoam have an expiry date? Does it go off?”  
  
“Not to my knowledge,” he said. “But when I was in the PRT, we always seemed to go through the stuff pretty quickly. If it does go off, we never kept any of it around long enough to run out its shelf-life.”  
  
“I guess that explains why there’s so much of it sitting around this place, then,” she mused.  
  
“So, you can recognise a confoam dispenser when you sense one?” Kieran asked, interestedly.  
  
She nodded. “There are quite a few of them around the Brockton Bay PRT building,” she said. “For the same reason this facility is positively festooned with them, I guess.”  
  
“Is there anything else you recognise?” He sounded eager.  
  
“In the bunker, or across the facility generally?” she asked.  
  
“The facility,” Kieran said.  
  
“Cameras,” she replied promptly. “So many cameras. They’re pretty much everywhere. Sensors, too, although I don’t know specifically what they’re all designed to pick up. Fire suppression systems.” She shrugged. “Plus all the usual structures and substructures you’d expect to find in buildings.” A thoughtful expression on her face, she added: “The sensory test chamber in Medical was interesting. It reminded me a little of the Wards HQ in some ways.”  
  
 _She doesn’t seem especially concerned about the cameras,_ Vincent noted, with surprise.  
  
“What do you mean?” Melanie asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.  
  
“It’s modular, and I guess some of the control systems are similar.” She pulled a face. “Not that I can really map those out in detail, at least not yet. But it was interesting.”  
  
“That reminds me,” Kieran said. “I spoke to Jane Vargas earlier. She said you took a look at the Merlin on the flight over.”  
  
Vincent had to repress a shudder at the thought of the Merlin. How anyone could actually find flying in that thing enjoyable — or, in fact, anything other than an exercise in mortal terror — was completely beyond him.  
  
“The Merlin is awesome,” Astrid said, her face practically lighting up. “And the flight was amazing. Vargas is a great pilot.”  
  
If Vincent hadn’t already spoken with Astrid about the flight, he would have assumed that she was being sarcastic. Although he supposed that one look at her face right now would have been enough to dismiss such an assumption out of hand. She looked positively ecstatic. He had to admit it was kind of nice seeing her express such total and unreserved happiness. Incomprehensible, but nice. From the way Kieran’s eyes softened when he looked at her, his own mouth curving up in a smile, he felt the same. About it being nice, at any rate. Vincent had the feeling that Kieran himself was the kind of eccentric individual who would actually enjoy a jaunt in the Hellplane of Horror.  
  
“Did she do the whole ‘plummeting from the sky and braking at the last possible moment’ thing on the approach?” Melanie asked.  
  
“Yes,” Astrid said, nodding. “It was quite… bracing.”  
  
“That’s one word for it,” Curtis muttered. “Terrifying is another. I’m also fond of: ‘Oh my God, why would anyone do this on purpose?’ I think it sums up the experience adequately enough.”  
  
Clearly, Curtis was the only half-way sane member of this group.  
  
“Oh, ignore him,” Melanie said. Waving a hand dismissively in Curtis’ direction, she beamed beatifically at Astrid. “It’s fun, right? And Vargas is always a hoot.”  
  
“I liked her,” Astrid said, sounding almost shy, flushing a little as she returned Melanie’s smile. “And she seemed pleased that I appreciated the Merlin.”  
  
“Well, it is pretty much her baby,” Yasmeena said. “I think she might actually sleep in it sometimes.”  
  
“Vargas’ sleeping habits aside,” Kieran said. “She mentioned that you said something about… templates? I meant to ask you about it earlier, but got distracted. Would you mind explaining what you meant by that?”  
  
“Oh,” Astrid said, looking startled. “Of course not. It’s not really anything complicated, though. When I study something with my power, I get a sense of how it’s put together. If I use my power on it again, or on another object like it, I can match it with the existing template.” She shrugged. “It comes in handy for identifying things.” Her cheeks flushed a little as she added: “Or fixing them.”  
  
“I see,” Kieran said, a speculative glint in his eyes. Without a word, he suddenly turned on his heel and made a beeline for the boxes the group had been lugging around the Range.  
  
Astrid stared after him, her expression perplexed, as he pulled out one box and started digging through it.  
  
“Was it something I said?” she asked, a worried note in her voice as she seemingly directed her question at the room as a whole.  
  
“No, he just does this sometimes,” Melanie assured her, smiling.  
  
“He probably just had an idea,” Yasmeena said. “No doubt he’ll fill us in when he’s found whatever it is he’s looking for.”  
  
“Aha!” Kieran exclaimed, as if on cue. Bustling back over to the group, he held out what looked like two identical metal… things… to Astrid. “Can you please do me a favour and compare these two components?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot as if he couldn’t contain his enthusiasm.  
  
“Sure,” she said, cautiously reaching out. A moment later, she asked: “What do you want to know?”  
  
“Are they identical?” he asked.  
  
“To what scale?” she replied, still eyeing him warily. “I mean, on a macro scale, sure. The dimensions and shapes match. But the molecular configurations are pretty different.”  
  
To Vincent’s eyes, she seemed tense. Kieran nodded absently, as if he’d been expecting her answer.  
  
“Do you think you could make one of them match the other exactly? Even down to the molecular configuration?”  
  
She took her time before replying, dropping her hands and stepping backwards, her gaze fixed on Kieran. “I think so,” she said slowly. “In theory, at least. In practice, it would probably take a while. That kind of fine manipulation is definitely more of a process than an end point thing.” After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, uncertainly: “Did you want me to try that now?”  
  
“No, that’s okay,” he said cheerfully. “I was just wondering. So, just out of curiosity, how different are they, on the molecular scale?  
  
“Fairly different,” she said.  
  
“Thought so,” he murmured, nodding to himself. He grinned cheerfully at Astrid. “Thanks for indulging my curiosity.”  
  
“You’re welcome,” she said, sounding a little bemused. He nodded at her and went to return the metal things to their box.  
  
“You don’t have to look so worried,” Yasmeena said dryly. “Kieran isn’t really the ‘shoot the messenger’ type.”  
  
“I wasn’t worried,” Astrid muttered, her flushed cheeks and guilty expression revealing the blatant lie for what it was. In an equally blatant attempt to change the subject, she strolled over the the window and peered out. “I guess the… cloud-kill…” She nodded at Yasmeena, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Makes for pretty effective area denial, at the very least,” she mused. “It’s difficult to mount an effective response if your vision and breathing are impaired.”  
  
Vincent looked through the window. The view was still partially obscured by clouds of dust, but it was looking noticeably clearer out there. Here and there, various members of the fire team could be seen plying their hoses, damping down the dust to make it settle. He was a little surprised it was taking so long, but then he supposed there had been a lot of dust. Presumably, they wanted to make sure no one ended up breathing in too much of the stuff.  
  
“Not that they’ll let you do that in the middle of the city,” Nick drawled. “I mean, last I checked, not even Brockton Bay was that much of an war zone.”  
  
“You’d be surprised,” Astrid muttered. “But no, I guess they won’t.” She sighed softly, her gaze turning distant. “I wonder what they will let me do?”  
  
Vincent had been wondering that himself. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any clear answers to give her. The only thing he could offer was reassurance. Keeping his movements slow, he took a couple of steps towards Astrid, careful not to get too close.  
  
“The PRT will figure it out,” he said confidently. “They’ve had a lot of experience with parahumans and their abilities. They know what they’re doing.”  
  
For what felt like a long moment, Astrid just stood there, looking out into the dust and the darkness, her shoulders so tense they were practically around her ears. But then she relaxed a fraction — the equivalent of someone else slumping bonelessly — and turned to face him.  
  
“I guess you’re right,” she said. “Thanks, Vincent.”  
  
“You’re very welcome,” he said, smiling.  
  
Her answering smile felt like a victory.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Yasmeena** _

 

“She’s definitely not afraid of heights,” Yasmeena murmured, watching Astrid spider her way up a wall. The metal cables flexing, reaching and scrabbling like extra limbs made ‘spider’ doubly applicable as a descriptor. It seemed that the safety harness and ropes were a little redundant.  
  
 _Wonder if Kieran’s stopped worrying now._  
  
Somehow, she doubted it.  
  
“And she’s certainly done that before,” Nick murmured, watching her progress with an assessing gaze. “Without the metal, at least. Although I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s done it with.”  
  
Yasmeena wouldn’t either. She figured Astrid had been practicing with her powers since almost the moment she’d got them.  
  
“Apparently she’s into hiking and other outdoorsy pursuits,” Vincent offered, smiling. “Maybe she’s had some rock-climbing experience, too.”  
  
“Huh,” Nick said noncommittally. “She tell you that?”  
  
“Yes,” Vincent said, with that faint air of self-satisfaction that made Yasmeena’s teeth itch.  
  
“Was that before or after she told you off for misplacing her bag?” she found herself saying, snidely.  
  
If Melanie was paying attention, she undoubtedly had the most disapproving look on her face right now. Yasmeena very carefully avoided looking in her direction. She was intending to make an effort to be nicer to Mr Fancy Pants; she really was. Well, she was planning on trying to avoid snarking at him too much, anyway. Realistically, that pretty much meant not saying anything at all to him, since she didn’t think she had it in her to actively say anything nice.  
  
But, apparently, even not saying anything at all was a step too far.  
  
Somehow, she couldn’t really find it in herself to feel any genuine remorse.  
  
 _Oh well,_ she thought, dismissing Vincent from her mind and turning her attention back to Astrid. _Wonder how she’ll do with the next test…_

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Nick** _

 

“You’re sure you’re going to be alright out there on your own?” Kieran asked, his brow furrowed and the worry practically pouring off him in waves.  
  
Nick tried very hard not to grit his teeth.  
  
“I’ll be fine,” he said, striving for a reassuring tone. “I have done this before, you know.” Possibly a little uncharitably, he couldn’t help thinking that Kieran would likely only get in the way if he was out there. And he would worry. God, would he worry. That really would not be helpful here.  
  
“I know,” Kieran. “I know this isn’t new to you, unlike the rest of us.” He grinned a little ruefully. “But you know me. I can’t help…”  
  
“Fretting,” Nick finished for him, managing to muster up a smile of his own. “I know. But it’s going to be fine. Trust me.”  
  
“I do, I do,” Kieran said. He sighed, and shook himself. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. Good luck.”  
  
“Thanks,” Nick drawled.  
  
He watched as Kieran went to take his leave of Astrid, who was enthusiastically discussing something with Curtis. He noted the way that enthusiasm dimmed, replaced by wariness, as Kieran approached; the way she drew herself up practically to attention. Not hard to see the signs once you were looking for them. She did seem to relax a little as Kieran spoke, though, so that was something. A few moments later, Kieran and Curtis headed off.  
  
Now it was just Nick and Astrid.  
  
This was the only part of the evaluation with just one overseer on site. It was also the only one that the rest of the team had been forbidden from watching. They were currently busy packing up and preparing to head back to the main campus. Or, at least, they should be.  
  
This was the last test ETA would be putting Astrid through today.  
  
Of course, the rest of the team weren’t exactly aware of all the details of this particular test. That, honestly, was probably for the best. Even aside from the fretting, the more people who knew, the greater the chance of someone tipping Astrid off. There was a reason why need to know was a thing.  
  
Fortunately, Nick had a fantastic poker face.      
Astrid eyed him curiously as she crossed the short distance towards him.  
  
“Dr Bailey said you’d be running this next test,” she said. “But he didn’t tell me any details. Is this another combat assessment?” Just there had been before, there was a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes, a note of eagerness in her voice. Apparently she really enjoyed sparring.  
  
“Not exactly,” he said. Taking a slow, deep breath, he pushed aside all distractions and focused on the task at hand. “This is a search and rescue scenario,” he continued briskly.  
  
Now that they had a baseline for the kinds of things Astrid could do with her power, the last part of the evaluation was all about figuring out ways for her to use her abilities in the field. They’d progressed from giving her single, very specific tasks to complete (rip up that road, destroy that building) to setting up problems to solve and situations to deal with (getting through enemy territory without being detected, facing a villain who’d taken a hostage, etc.).  
  
“I see,” she said, her expression guarded.  
  
“There’s a collapsed building over there with civilians trapped inside,” He pointed to the very convincing ruin of a building a short distance away. “Your mission is to locate and retrieve the civilians, and administer whatever first aid may be necessary.”  
  
She considered that for a moment. “Am I allowed to ask questions about the situation?”  
  
“Yes,” he said, deliberately keeping his tone brusque; not showing his approval. It always surprised him how many of the capes he put through this particular scenario just went haring off right away. Some of them didn’t even wait for him to finish the briefing. “Make it quick, though. Time’s ticking on.”  
  
She nodded. “Is there any information on the numbers, approximate locations and status of the civilians?”  
  
“No,” he said. “Only that they’re in there.”  
  
“What kind of building is it, what happened, and whose territory is it in?”  
  
That last question wasn’t one he was usually asked. Interesting.  
  
“Residential and cape fight.” Not that it really mattered, but as a resident of Brockton Bay, he figured she was more likely to encounter the aftermath of a cape fight than, say, an earthquake or other natural disaster. Might as well stick with the familiar. “And let’s say it’s in unclaimed territory.”  
  
“How long have the civilians been trapped?”  
  
“Somewhere between one and two hours.”  
  
Short enough for there to be a reasonable chance of survivors; long enough for the fight itself to be over. Also long enough that there was no time for dawdling.  
  
“Any other hazards or threats in the area I should know about?” she asked. “Gas mains? Tinker workshops? Capes? Anything?”  
  
“Nothing you’re aware of,” he said, keeping a lid on his amusement. “And that’s all the information you have.”  
  
He was unsurprised when she merely nodded, accepting his answer, rather than trying to argue for more information.  
  
“What resources do I have access to?”  
  
Another interesting question.  
  
“You can use anything around you, including that block of metal over there.”  
  
Her eyes positively lit up at that last part. Apparently she really liked working with metal.  
  
“Any further instructions?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” he said. “You’ll be wearing some of that metal as armour for this exercise. Plus the helmet that’s currently sitting next to the block.”  
  
They didn’t want to risk her giving herself whiplash, or worse. Or suffocating herself. So, no completely encasing herself in metal until they were happy that she could do so safely.  
  
A minute frown wrinkled the skin of her forehead. “The armour will impair my mobility quite significantly,” she said carefully. “Which will likely slow me down. I was under the impression that speed was of the essence here. Was that incorrect?”  
  
“You’re not wrong,” he said. “But protecting yourself is also important.” Not that they couldn’t have stuck her in the kind of protective gear that the PRT and the emergency services used, but this was very much a multiple birds, one stone kind of situation. “Anyway,” he added. “When you’re entering an unstable structure, you’ll want to take it slow and steady, rather than barrelling in at top speed. Trust me on that.”  
  
“Understood, Sir,” she replied crisply. He didn’t bother to correct her use of the title.  
  
“One more thing,” he said. He’d been debating whether or not to mention it, but it was something she’d find out pretty quickly anyway, and he wanted to make sure she understood what was expected. “As you’ll undoubtedly realise, the building isn’t actually in danger of collapsing on your head.” They weren’t idiots, after all. Armour or not, accidents could happen, and no one wanted to risk injuring someone under their care, especially a minor. “But as far as you’re concerned, it’s extremely unstable, and might well fall down at any second. That means you’ll want to exfil the survivors as quickly as you can safely do so. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Alright,” he said. “Get suited up and go and rescue those civilians.” She nodded and headed for the block of metal. As it flowed over her, she glanced in his direction, looking like she wanted to say something. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, too impatient to wait her out.  
  
“I was just wondering,” she said softly. “I mean, I know it’s probably a stupid question and all, but I just wanted to make sure: there aren’t actually any people inside that building, right?”  
  
“No, of course not,” he said. “Just dolls.” Fairly realistic dolls, as she would find out, but there were no actual people for her to rescue.  
  
That was the next test. The one that would give Kieran a conniption if he was here. If he knew about it.  
  
 _But… let’s get through this one first. This is the easy one, after all._

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“Structure exhibits signs of severe damage,” Astrid’s voice came over the comms. That was definitely true. If anything, it was actually something of an understatement. To a cursory inspection, the building looked like a stiff breeze might knock it over. Like he’d told her, though, appearances were deceiving. “Attempts to reinforce it are hindered by the fact that it’s in multiple pieces. I can bond parts of it together, but I don’t think that will be enough to stop it from shifting.”  
  
Astrid was apparently following his instructions to treat the structure as unstable, and had taken his advice about proceeding with caution to heart.  
  
“Acknowledged,” he replied absently. “Just do what you can.” If this was a real search and rescue operation, of course, he would at least try to offer useful advice. Since it was a test, though, his responses were largely going to be limited to acknowledgements and occasional questions.  
  
For a few moments, there was nothing but the miscellaneous sounds of Astrid making her careful way into the damaged building, the occasional plume of dust marking when she removed a — fortunately non-load-bearing — obstacle from her path. The sounds stopped.  
  
“I can hear voices,” she said, cautiously.  
  
“Must be the trapped civilians,” Nick replied. Or, more specifically, they must be the recordings of people calling for help that were being played through the dolls’ speakers. He’d never asked whose voices those actually were. He’d just assumed they probably belonged to interns past who’d been drafted into service as impromptu voice actors. “Can you locate them?”  
  
“Working on it,” she murmured. “There are a number of spaces large enough to hold at least one person within my current sensory range. Using metal tendrils to probe those now.” _Useful trick,_ Nick mused. Kieran had mentioned her using rubber tendrils to locate obstacles in the maze Medical had run her through. He assumed this was a similar kind of thing. A few moments went by. “Located two human-shaped objects; adults from the size. Clearing a route to them now.”  
  
“Acknowledged,” Nick said.  
  
“There’s some kind of… Is that blood?” Astrid sounded puzzled, rather than freaked out. A moment later, she said. “No, it seems to be a syrup-based fluid. Lots of sugars and starches.” A beat. “Oh. I see. Fake blood.” She sounded amused. Clearing her throat, she continued in a brisk, businesslike tone. “Both civilians are conscious but injured.” The canned pleas for aid could be heard over the comms. “One has a three inch laceration to the torso which is bleeding extensively. The other has a compound fracture of the left arm. Both also have a number of minor injuries, largely bruises and scrapes.”  
  
The dolls certainly were very realistic; something that often threw people encountering them for the first time. He supposed it was harder to fool someone with fake blood when they could analyse it with a touch, though.  
  
“What’s your plan?” he asked.  
  
“Treating the civilians in situ is not a viable option as the location is unsafe. I’m going to staunch the bleeding as best as I can and then get them both out of here.”  
  
That last part wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded, Nick knew. The dolls weighed the same as a similarly sized person, and it wasn’t as if they could support their own weight. Astrid might be strong, but he doubted she’d be able to carry the equivalent of two adults while carefully making her way through an unstable, half-collapsed building.  
  
Perhaps the scenario was a little unfair, but then fairness wasn’t precisely the aim here.  
  
Time ticked by. The building creaked and groaned a little as it shifted. He wondered if that was due to Astrid’s actions. Even knowing that the structure probably wasn’t going to come down on Astrid’s head, the sounds of concrete under stress still made his heart beat a little faster.  
  
 _Good job Kieran isn’t watching this,_ he mused. _Poor guy would probably be having a heart attack from stress right about now._  
  
“You okay in there?” he asked.  
  
“Fine, Sir,” Astrid replied, her voice a little strained. “Coming out now.”  
  
“Acknowledged,” he said.  
  
A few moments later, three figures emerged from the building. For one surreal moment, he thought that the dolls were actually walking somehow. A moment after that, he saw the telltale glint of metal wrapped around them and realised that Astrid had rigged up some kind of scaffold or carrying frame. Presumably the frame was supporting at least some of the weight. It still seemed like a bit of a struggle as she manoeuvred her burden a short distance away from the building and deposited them behind cover.  
  
“Two civilians recovered from the building,” she reported. “Will administer first aid and then check for further survivors.”  
  
She was certainly taking this exercise seriously, he noted, as he acknowledged her report. Not that he’d really expected any less, of course. As far as he could tell, she took all of this seriously. Maybe a little too seriously, honestly, given that she was apparently willing to risk potentially nasty injury rather than fail to perform one of the tasks set her.  
  
Nick had a shrewd suspicion who could be blamed for that attitude.  
  
“Heading back in now,” she told him.  
  
“Okay,” he said, his tone calm despite the way adrenaline made his heart beat faster. This next part was where things could get… tricky. Once Astrid had disappeared from view, he quickly manoeuvred onto his mark and switched the channel on his comms.  
  
“Stewart to SFX team. I’m in position.” Not that they couldn’t see him, of course, but SOP was that they wait for verbal confirmation before kicking things off.  
  
“Copy, Stewart,” came Hilbert’s voice over the comms. “Everything’s ready on our end. Just waiting for the green light from Psych.”  
  
“Thank you Nick, Ivan,” came Kimberly’s voice. “Please hold on for the moment. I’ll let you know when it’s time.”  
  
As always, Psych would want to time this for maximum effectiveness.  
  
In the meanwhile, Astrid was working her way through the part of the test she knew about.  
  
“Searching for more civilians,” she reported. “Having to take it slow, though, because of the-“ She broke off suddenly. Concerned, Nick switched back to her comms channel and started to ask if everything was alright, but then she suddenly spoke again. “I’m an idiot,” she muttered, sounding thoroughly disgusted.  
  
Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?” he drawled, amused. “Say again?”  
  
“Uh, sorry,” she said quickly. “Please disregard that last statement. But I just realised that there’s something else I can do to stabilise this structure, which will help me speed up the search.”  
  
“Oh?” he said, interested. “What’s that?”  
  
“I can use my metal to bind together the parts I can’t otherwise reach with my power,” she explained. “Similar to how I bound the bundle of metal pieces into a single object earlier. Once it’s a single object, I can hold it together. I can reinforce it.”  
  
“Sounds useful,” he murmured. “You doing that now?”  
  
“Yes,” she said. “Also continuing to search. I think I may have…”  
  
She said something else, but his attention was captured by Kimberly’s voice in his ear.  
  
“Now, please, Ivan.”  
  
“Acknowledged.” Hilbert’s reply sounded almost maniacally cheerful. “Stewart, assume the position.”  
  
Nick rolled his eyes as he levered himself out of his chair and settled onto the ground.  
  
 _Least my arms still work,_ he thought, not without bitterness.  
  
Once he was settled, he tipped the chair over — not the easiest of tasks, given it was expressly designed to stop that from happening — and switched comm channels to say, dryly: “Position assumed,” before switching back to Astrid’s channel.  
  
Psych and SFX could still hear him, of course, just as he could hear them. But there were obvious reasons for keeping Astrid on her own channel.  
  
 _Wouldn’t do to let her see behind the curtain, after all,_ he mused.  
  
And, speaking of wonderful wizards…  
  
“Acknowledged,” Hilbert said. And then: “Fire in the hole.”  
  
Nick had just enough time to brace himself before there was a muffled ‘crump’ from somewhere below him that shook the ground.  
  
And then a wall fell on him.

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Okay, technically the wall didn’t fall **on** him. It fell around him, scattering the ground with pieces of debris that did a creditable impression of having been strewn randomly here and there, rather than having their trajectories painstakingly worked out in advance.  
  
“Nick?” came Astrid’s voice over the comms. She sounded a little alarmed, but her voice was more or less level as she asked: “What’s your status?”  
  
He didn’t answer.  
  
There were a couple of things he needed to set up, so he worked quickly, knowing he likely wouldn’t have long to get it done. Luckily, he’d had a fair amount of practice at this. Astrid repeated her question, but he still didn’t respond. By the time he heard the sound of her rapidly approaching footsteps, everything was ready.  
  
Half-buried as he was, he couldn’t see her, so he had to rely on sound to tell him what was going on. The speed of her footsteps… Either she’d managed to make the armour work the way she had when the turrets started pelting her with foam missiles, or she’d simply shucked it. Hard to tell which. A slight pause between steps: the moment when she clapped eyes on him, no doubt. He imagined what it must look like from her perspective. The overturned chair. His body, sprawled limp beneath a mound of rubble.  
  
The blood.  
  
“Fuck,” she breathed, the word barely audible. The sound of footsteps once more; slower now, cautious. As she walked, he heard her talking: “Astrid to ETA. There’s been an explosion at the test site, cause unknown. Nick is down; looks like he was hit by and is partially buried under falling debris. He’s not responding and there is a significant amount of blood. Please send help.”  
  
Presumably she’d switched to the group channel. Or, she thought she had. For all the good it would do her. For the purposes of this test, her comms had been cut off. Psych could hear her, of course — Psych was always listening, and watching — but the team were blissfully unaware. That was at least part of the reason why they’d been banished from this site. That, and the need to control all the variables in play.  
  
“Come in, ETA,” she said. As she spoke, he felt something touch his hand, suppressing his instinctive start. Astrid wasn’t close enough for it to be her, so…  
  
 _Her metal; of course._  
  
“If anyone can hear me, I’m going to try to clear the rubble and administer first aid. I say again: man down, please send help.” She sounded remarkably calm, considering. “Nick,” she said. “Can you hear me?” He remained silent. “On the off-chance that you can, I’m going to clear this rubble away. Try not to move.”  
  
That, at least, he could oblige.  
  
She kept up a sporadic commentary as she cleared the debris, working swiftly but cautiously, testing to make sure she wasn’t going to bring the whole thing toppling down on him. Eventually, she’d shifted enough of it that she could get to him.  
  
“I’m going to check you for injuries now,” she informed him. A few moments later, she murmured to herself. “Fuck. I was really hoping that wasn’t real.”  
  
Presumably she meant the blood. Or maybe the ragged mess of what looked very much like a very nasty crush injury resulting in a partially-severed foot.  
  
 _Score one for the bioengineers,_ he thought. They would be pleased to know that their work had stood up to close inspection yet again.  
  
She checked his pulse and breathing, and then gave the obvious injury a more thorough inspection.  
  
“This is going to need a tourniquet,” she said.  
  
That was probably a sign that it was time for him to stop playing dead.  
  
“No, I think we’re well past that point,” he said airily, opening his eyes and sitting up. Her eyes went wide and shocked, the way he’d seen so many times before. And just in case that shock was a prelude to fury — as it so often was — at the fact that she’d been misled, he added a firm: “Stand down.”  
  
She straightened, still staring at him. “This was part of the test, Sir?” she asked, the words enunciated very, very precisely, if a little hoarsely.  
  
“Yes,” he said. He glanced around, locating his chair. “Mind giving me a hand? I just need something to pull myself up with.” She didn’t move a muscle, but some of the metal reshaped itself into a support frame, while yet more righted his overturned chair. “Thanks.”  
  
She didn’t reply.  
  
He felt more than a little self-conscious as she watched him pull himself into his chair. He ignored it. Somehow, he doubted his current struggle was the main thing on her mind right now. From the way her eyes kept being drawn to the bloody mess at the end of his ankle, he could make a pretty good guess as to what was going through her mind.  
  
When he’d settled himself again, he met her gaze.  
  
“Go ahead and ask,” he told her, gently.  
  
“How?” she asked, simply. “That’s not the syrup stuff from before. And the… your foot. That’s really missing?”  
  
He shrugged. “In reverse order: yes, most of the foot’s really missing. Lost it during the incident that put me in this chair.” He nodded towards the bloody lump on the ground. “That’s not mine, obviously. It’s something cooked up by Bioengineering, as is the blood and the gunk on the end of my leg.”  
  
Her brows drew together in a frown. “Is it like Bob’s skin?” she asked.  
  
“Yes,” he said, wondering how long it would be before this calm of hers started to crack.  
  
The silence stretched while she studied him, the pile of debris, the fake injury and the disembodied most of a foot. And then, abruptly, she sucked in a deep, audible breath, almost a gasp, and her face crumpled into an expression of anguish.  
  
“I thought this was my fault,” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought I disturbed something with my power; maybe broke something. I thought I caused that explosion.” She drew in another deep, rasping breath. “I thought I’d hurt you. Or worse.”  
  
“That was kind of the point,” he said gently. “Sometimes things go wrong in the field. Sometimes accidents happen. Sometimes people get hurt. It’s one thing to deal with something you know is just a scenario, but we needed to know how you’d react to something you thought was a real emergency. We run something similar during every evaluation.”  
  
It wasn’t always the same situation, of course. The details varied depending on the cape’s abilities — parahuman and otherwise — and their particular quirks. But it was for the same purpose, which was exactly what he’d told her it was. He had no reason to lie about it, not at this point.  
  
She stared at him for a long moment, but then she schooled her features into blank neutrality and nodded slowly.  
  
“I understand,” she said softly. He was almost surprised at how easily she seemed to accept that. There wasn’t even a trace of anger in her demeanour, although he supposed she could simply be hiding it. After a moment’s hesitation, she added: “Am I allowed to ask how I did?”  
  
“Of course,” he said. “You didn’t panic, which is a good first start. You assessed the situation, called for backup, and took appropriate action to deal with the problem. All in all, I’d say you did very well.”  
  
Better than he’d expected, honestly, given her age.  
  
 _Guess that’s training for you._ Approval and anger warred within him at that thought. On the one hand, at least her father had managed to get that much right. On the other, it seemed like he’d got a whole fuck of a lot pretty goddamn wrong.  
  
“Thank you, Sir,” she said, seeming relieved. And, thankfully, unaware of the direction of his thoughts. He pushed them away to focus on the here and now.  
  
“Not in your chain of command, remember,” he said, gently.  
  
“Nick, then,” she said, after a moment, and gave him a small smile.  
  
“That’s better,” he replied. He nodded at her. “Guess I should thank you for the rescue.” In a slyly amused tone, he added: “Wouldn’t have blamed you for leaving me there after I knocked you on your ass earlier.”  
  
She made a disparaging noise. “Like I said, Old Man: you may have knocked me down, but I got up again. And you’d tipped your hand. Pretty fucking sure things would not have gone your way after that.”  
  
“Well, Kid,” he said airily. “Maybe one of these days we’ll get to find out.”  
  
She grinned fiercely in response. “I look forward to it.”  
  
“You know what?” he said, returning her grin without even having to try. “Me too. But not right now.”  
  
“Yeah, I know,” she said, shrugging. “We wouldn’t want to hold up the rest of the evaluation.”  
  
He laughed softly. “There is no rest of the evaluation, Astrid. That was the last test.”  
  
The look she turned on him was… not suspicious, exactly, but definitely wary, like she wasn’t entirely sure whether she should believe him.  
  
“It’s… over? That’s it?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Dr Bailey didn’t say this was the last one,” she murmured, frowning.  
  
“Under orders not to,” he said. “Apparently, people tend to have different expectations when they know they’re on the final test. Or something. Wasn’t really paying attention to the explanation.” He shrugged. “We just do what we’re told.”  
  
“I get that,” she said quietly, and the look on her face was unreadable.  
  
“Anyway,” he said after a moment. “Did you think we were going to keep at it all night?”  
  
“I didn’t know how long it would go on for,” she said. “No one seemed to be able to give me a clear idea when I asked.” She studied him for a moment. “So, what happens now? Is there some kind of debrief?”  
  
“Not for you, as far as I know,” he said. Unless Psych decided that she needed another one on one, he guessed. But she seemed considerably less wound up right now than she had after facing the ‘general public,’ so he suspected that wasn’t on the cards. _Figures that she’d be more thrown by an audience than by a gruesome injury._ “You’ll be taken back to the main campus so you can have the sensors removed and retrieve the rest of your things.” And, presumably, change back into whatever she’d been wearing before they’d stuck her in those fatigues. “And then whoever’s on pilot duty will fly you back to Brockton Bay. I guess there’s a chance they might have you stay the night and then send you back in the morning, but I don’t think it’s likely.”  
  
If he asked Kimberly, she’d probably say something about the importance of a familiar environment in helping an agitated parahuman to calm down after a stressful experience. There was undoubtedly at least some truth to that logic. If he was a cynical man, however, he might observe that shipping them off ASAP also had the advantage of making them someone else’s problem.  
  
If he was a cynical man.  
  
“I see,” Astrid said. It was hard to tell if she was relieved or apprehensive at the thought of going home.  
  
“Before we go anywhere, though,” he continued. “Mind recovering the metal? Easier for you to do it than to leave it for maintenance.”  
  
Belatedly, he’d realised that she was no longer wearing the metal as armour. Instead, the bulk of it had been formed into a scaffold that seemed to be holding the debris from the wall in place. She nodded and carefully extracted it, reforming it into a cube. Well, except…  
  
He coughed loudly, and when she turned a puzzled look his way, he glanced meaningfully at her forearms, which were encased in metal bracers.  
  
“Oh. Right,” she muttered, flushing. “Sorry.” She added it to the remaining metal to the cube. “I swear I’m not normally this much of a kleptomaniac,” she assured him earnestly. “I’m just… used to having my metal on me. It feels weird not having it.” A beat went by and then she asked, hesitantly. “Am I going to be in trouble for not putting it back right away?”  
  
“No, of course not,” he said. With a dark, bitter kind of humour, he noted that Eliot would undoubtedly disapprove of the fact that he hadn’t reprimanded her. _Just as well that Eliot isn’t here right now._ “Anyway,” he said firmly. “Let’s go and join the others. No doubt both Kieran and Vincent will want to fuss over you before you leave.” He had to laugh at the way she rolled her eyes. “They mean well, you know.”  
  
“I know, I guess,” she said, still looking less than impressed. “It’s just… I’m not as weak or fragile as any of them seem to think I am.”  
  
Although briefly surprised at her statement, it only took a moment for him to realise that he really shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t like she hadn’t more or less said as much before, when she’d talked about being ‘coddled.’ Not to mention every time she’d complained about taking breaks, or frowned about being asked if she was okay.  
  
Or expressed disgust at the idea of sparring without leaving bruises.  
  
“Pretty sure no one here thinks you’re fragile,” he said cautiously.  
  
“Pretty sure the rest of my fucking team damn well does,” she muttered, scowling at the ground as she clenched her hands into fists.  
  
He blinked at her, a little taken aback by her vehemence.  
  
“Nick, can you please try to find out what she meant by that?” Kimberly asked. “Don’t push if she doesn’t want to answer, though.”  
  
“Why do you think that?” he asked, without the faintest idea whether or not she’d actually tell him. He couldn’t even figure the odds well enough to make a bet with himself about the outcome.  
  
She shrugged, abruptly turning on her heel and starting to pace restlessly.  
  
“It’s just… It seems like every time I turn around, someone’s asking me if I need to go to the infirmary, or telling me I shouldn’t spar, or hit the gym. Like they think I can’t handle it. And Director Piggot rescheduled my combat assessment, even though I tried to tell her I was still perfectly functional.” She huffed out a frustrated-sounding breath. “Well, maybe not perfectly,” she corrected herself, her voice so low he had to strain his ears to hear it. “But functional enough. I could still fight.”  
  
 _Well, shit._  
  
“You said you were injured,” he pointed out, knowing that the sensible thing to do here was to say nothing and yet not being able to help himself. “It doesn’t seem so unreasonable for your team mates and superiors to be concerned about your wellbeing.”  
  
She paused in her restless pacing, shooting him a guarded look. “I **told** them I was fine,” she said.  
  
“I’ll bet you did,” he muttered, grimacing.  
  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.  
  
He debated with himself for all of about a second before thinking: _Fuck it._  
  
Yas had told Astrid what was what without incident, so he reckoned he had a better than even chance of doing the same.  
  
Anyway, some things just had to be said.  
  
“It means,” he said levelly, looking her dead in the eyes. “That if one of my subordinates came in looking battered to fuck and back…” Because it was a pretty safe bet that she’d understated the severity of her prior injuries. “And they tried to tell me that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, they were perfectly **functional** …” Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite keep the snarl from his voice on that word. “And there wasn’t a good goddamn reason I needed them right the fuck now, I’d tell them to fuck right off and not show their face again until they were actually fit for duty.”  
  
For a moment, she just stared at him in blank incomprehension, like he’d started speaking some crazy moon language. And then her face filled with fury.  
  
“I **was** fit for duty!” she snapped. “I’m not going to damage myself for no gain, and I’ve spent a fuck of a lot of time figuring out exactly how hard and how far I can push myself. When I say I could still fight, and train, and do whatever the fuck else turned out to be necessary, I mean exactly that. So why won’t anyone fucking believe me?”  
  
Some of the anger bled out of her eyes as she spoke, replaced by a kind of confused pleading. Like she thought he had a hope in hell of making sense of all this.  
  
“Jesus wept,” he muttered. He sighed heavily, trying to figure out how to put this in a way she might actually understand. He didn’t give himself very good odds. “Okay,” he said. “Look at it this way. Sure, you might have been able to fight and train and whatever.”  
  
“I could,” she insisted.  
  
“I don’t doubt you could,” he said, which seemed to mollify her a little. _Just in time for me to piss her off some more, no doubt._ “But can you honestly tell me that none of that slowed your recovery at all? Not even a little?”  
  
Indignation flashed in her eyes as she drew herself up to her full height, her face flushing as she opened her mouth to speak. He continued to hold her gaze, fixing her with the same unimpressed look he would give any trainee who thought they could pull something over on him. She slumped slightly in response. In place of words, a soft sigh instead fell from her lips. She took a breath and tried again.  
  
“I don’t think my recovery was significantly impaired,” she said stiffly.  
  
“So, that’s a no, then,” he said flatly.  
  
“Anyway, it’s a moot point,” she retorted, rallying a little. “Panacea fixed me. I’m fine now. I’m not damaged any more.”  
  
He wasn’t going to touch the subject of her word choice with a ten foot pole. The PRT had counsellors for that shit. He was just a soldier. And a scientist, he supposed, but it was the soldier in him that found what she was saying fucking **offensive**.  
  
Once again, he felt that violent urge towards her father. It was one thing for those piss-artists to Darwinate themselves; that was a self-correcting problem. But what kind of a bastard would warp his own kid’s mind like that?  
  
 _Probably the kind of bastard whose daughter ends up triggering._  
  
“And what happens if you get hurt again?” he asked, keeping his tone perfectly level and even despite the temptation to grind his teeth and growl his words.  
  
“I’ll deal with it appropriately,” she said.  
  
“That involve taking it easy and giving yourself the time to recuperate properly?” he asked, already knowing the answer to that question.  
  
“That’s not-“ she started to say, but he cut her off before she could finish.  
  
“When you don’t give your body what it needs to recover,” he said. “At the very least, it’ll take longer for you to get back to one hundred per cent. Keep pushing yourself, and you can aggravate your injuries further. Worst case scenario, you might heal wrong, or not at all.”  
  
From the way she went still, something in that struck a nerve.  
  
 _Good._  
  
“What that means is,” he continued, not giving her the chance to interrupt, even though she looked like she wanted to. “By ‘powering through the pain’ or whatever fuckwitted macho bullshit you’ve been sold, you are actively harming your fitness for duty. You’re basically fucking yourself over in the long-term for the sake of a dubious advantage in the short term. How does that in any way make sense?”  
  
She studied him, frowning as she searched his face for God knew what. He wished he knew what was going through her head right now.  
  
Kimberly made use of the silence to murmur in his ear.  
  
“I see that there is more than one person on this team with whom I was apparently insufficiently clear regarding the importance of adopting a non-confrontational manner when dealing with stressed parahumans,” she said. In a supremely disappointed tone, she added: “I thought you, at least, knew better, Nick. It is extremely fortunate that Astrid doesn’t seem to respond as poorly to provocation as she might have done.”  
  
 _Yeah, well, you could have stepped in at any point to head me off,_ he thought, cursing his lack of ability to respond. _Plus, it was a calculated risk._  
  
And if there was one thing he was good at, it was calculating risks.  
  
Mostly.  
  
In any case, once she was done scrutinising him within an inch of his life, all Astrid said in the end was:  
  
“We should probably head back. Dr Bailey will start worrying otherwise.”  
  
 _Guess it was too much to hope I’d be able to change the thought patterns of a lifetime with one conversation,_ he thought. _Still, maybe I’ve at least given her something to think about._  
  
“That he will,” Nick drawled. He studied Astrid surreptitiously. She looked… thoughtful. A little distant, maybe. But not pissed off. That was something, at least. _Probably puts me one up on Yas,_ he couldn’t help noting. He looked down at himself and pulled a face. “I need to get rid of this crap. Just give me a minute.” She nodded, watching him as he peeled off his ‘injury’ and bundled it up into a trash bag for disposal. He glanced around. “Hand me that foot?” he asked, gesturing to the mess on the floor.  
  
“Sure,” she said, bending to scoop it up off the ground. She took a couple of moments to study it before handing it over. He noted that her expression was merely curious, rather than repulsed. “Pretty fucking realistic,” she commented.  
  
“I’ll pass that on to Bioeng,” he said absently, stuffing it into the bag. “They’ll be pleased.”  
  
“It’s sure as shit more realistic than the dolls’ fake blood,” she continued, shooting him an assessing look. “Was that to throw me off the scent?”  
  
“Partly,” he agreed readily. “But mostly, it just comes down to money and time.” He shrugged. “Why bother with the fancy shit when you don’t have to?”  
  
“That makes sense,” she conceded.  
  
He started to reach for the tissues he’d stashed in his chair, intending to clean himself up a bit — playing the disaster victim was generally messy work — but paused as a thought struck him.  
  
“Hey, Astrid,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial.  
  
“What?” she asked warily.  
  
“Want to help me freak out the rest of the team a little?”  
  
She tilted her head curiously.  
  
“What did you have in mind?”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

The murmur of conversation cut off as Astrid and Nick entered the bunker. It didn’t happen instantly, but over a couple of moments, as people looked up and saw them, silence claimed the room.  
  
And then…  
  
“Is that… blood?!” Nick hadn’t even realised Kieran’s voice could go that high. Or that loud. In an instant, he was on his feet and hurrying over to the pair of them.  
  
“Holy shit.” Curtis breathed, his eyes like saucers.  
  
“Oh my God!” Melanie clapped a hand to her mouth, looking utterly horrified.  
  
Eliot and Vincent remained silent. Eliot looked distinctly green around the gills. A look of disgust flickered briefly over Vincent’s face before being replaced by understated amusement as he shook his head.  
  
“What did you do to yourself now?” Yas practically barked the words, but the look on her face was worried as she bore down on the pair of them.  
  
“You should see the other guy,” Astrid drawled.  
  
“What?” Kieran looked completely and utterly confused.  
  
Nick gave Astrid a sidelong glance.  
  
“What did I tell you, Kid?” he murmured. “Totally worth it, right?”  
  
“What?” Yas, this time; her face a picture of concern, confusion and the beginnings of irritation.  
  
Astrid took one look at her, and abruptly burst out laughing.  
  
“You should see the l- look on your f- face,” she gasped out between peals of laughter. “You were right, Old Man. This was f- fucking hilarious.” She said something else, but it was rendered incomprehensible by her mirth.  
  
That, right there, made the whole thing worthwhile.  
  
 _She certainly looked like she could do with a good laugh._  
  
Even if Yas was glaring at Nick like she was trying to burn a hole through his head by the white-hot blaze of her fury.  
  
“Disaster simulation,” he explained. “Fake blood, don’t worry. No one got hurt. It just made a bit of a mess, that’s all.” Comprehension dawned over the room like a sunrise, leaving an almost palpable air of relief in its wake. And amusement. Kieran in particular was practically grinning from ear to ear as he looked at Astrid.  
  
Yas still looked pissed, of course, but then that was Yas for you. The woman had a temper. And, unlike Astrid, she definitely held a grudge. She reminded him a little of Marlene that way.  
  
“Would it have killed you to warn us that you were going to show up looking like you’d waded through an abattoir?” she groused.  
  
“Where would be the fun in that?” he drawled. “Anyway, it’s not that bad.”  
  
Sure, they’d maybe artfully daubed themselves here and there for effect, but it wasn’t as if they’d splashed the stuff around with gleeful abandon.  
  
“I’ll give you this, Nick,” Kimberly said. “This seems to have been a pretty effective way of calming Astrid down after the evaluation, if a little… unorthodox.”  
  
Yas met Nick’s gaze and rolled her eyes pointedly. He inclined his head fractionally, not needing words to parse her meaning.  
  
 _If Psych wanted ‘orthodox,’ they probably shouldn’t have brought in ETA. ‘Orthodox’ isn’t exactly what we’re about._  
  
Yas did seem a little less angry. At least, she no longer seemed like she was trying to glare literal daggers at him. Then again, there was nothing like a common enemy for uniting the troops.  
  
Had that been deliberate on Kimberly’s part? He didn’t think so, but then, that was the thing about Psych:  you never could be one hundred per cent sure that you weren’t being played. Sometimes he thought they just couldn’t help themselves.  
  
In any case, Kimberly didn’t offer any further commentary.  
  
Astrid’s laughing fit finally seemed to be subsiding. She hiccupped once or twice and wiped her eyes, grinning at Nick.  
  
“God, I haven’t laughed like that in…” She broke off, shaking her head, her smile fading a little. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever laughed like that. Not as far as I can remember, anyway. The nearest I got was when Clockblocker startled me with a ridiculous comment.”  
  
It was a good job she wasn’t looking at Kieran right now, because his expression morphed from fondly amused to utterly stricken in no time flat.  
  
Yas glanced at him and then stepped forward, drawing Astrid’s attention.  
  
“So you do like him,” she drawled.  
  
Astrid rolled her eyes. “Never said I didn’t,” she sighed. She didn’t sound too irritated, though, and her eyes still sparkled with humour. “You should have seen the look on your face,” she said, smirking. “I only wish I could’ve taken a picture.”  
  
“I bet mine was probably a sight to see, too,” Kieran said indulgently, having apparently recovered his composure.  
  
Astrid’s smile dimmed a little at she met his gaze. It didn’t fade completely, though, so that was something. “I… hope you didn’t mind. Kieran,” she said, a little uncertainly.  
  
“No, of course not,” Kieran said gently. “Like you said, it was funny. I’m just relieved no one was actually hurt.”  
  
“Anyway, it was all my idea,” Nick chimed in. “Astrid is clearly just a poor innocent waif who was led astray by my bad influence.”  
  
He laughed softly at the irritatedly amused look Astrid gave him.  
  
“Does that mean you don’t want me to get that gunk out of your clothing before it sets?” she asked dryly.  
  
“You can do that?” he asked, before recalling she’d said something earlier about being able to deal with fresh stains. In lieu of answering verbally, she touched one of the scarlet patches on her fatigues, and he watched with interest as she drew it out of the material. It crept along her skin to gather in the palm of her hand.  
  
“Is there a bin around here?” she asked, glancing around.  
  
“Here,” Vincent said, ever the attentive subordinate, as he brought it over.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, smiling at him.  
  
“You’re welcome,” he replied, smiling back.  
  
She tipped her hand over the bin, and fine dust sifted down into it.  
  
“Cool,” Nick said. He glanced down and the drying smears on his own clothing. “I would definitely appreciate some assistance. It’s a pain getting bloodstains out once they’ve set.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” Astrid muttered fervently.  
  
“Please don’t ask her about that,” Kimberly said swiftly, almost before Astrid had finished speaking.  
  
Nick hoped Astrid didn’t notice the awkward exchange of looks between certain other occupants of the bunker. Her attention seemed to be on him, however.  
  
“I’m, uh, going to have to touch the material to use my power on it,” she said, a little awkwardly.  
  
“Kind of figured that,” he said affably. “Go ahead.”  
  
He made sure to keep still as she quickly set about drawing out the blood out of the material of his clothes. It didn’t take that long. Despite what Yas had said, he wasn’t exactly drenched in the stuff.  
  
“So, just out of curiosity, what kind of disaster simulation was it?” Curtis asked, watching Astrid work with unabashed interest.  
  
“Unexpected explosion burying a hapless bystander in rubble,” Nick said. “I was the bystander.”  
  
“That must have been awful,” Kieran said, his tone horrified. He gave Astrid a worried look. “Are you okay, Astrid?”  
  
She was facing away from Kieran, so he didn’t see the irritation flicker in her eyes.  
  
 _Time to head this off at the pass, I think._  
  
“Shouldn’t you be asking me that, Boss?” Nick drawled. “I was the one who had a wall fall on me, after all.”  
  
“Well, near you, anyway,” Astrid murmured, shaking her head.  
  
“ **Are** you alright?” Kieran asked, and maybe Nick should have realised that it wasn’t just Astrid he was worried about.  
  
“Yeah, fine. Like Astrid said, nothing actually hit me. SFX knows what they’re doing.”  
  
“So that’s what Ivan’s big secret was,” Melanie murmured, looking like something had just clicked into place in her mind. “I did wonder.” She gave Nick a cross look. “I can’t believe you let him blow something up without me.”  
  
“Hey, don’t look at me,” Nick said, managing to refrain from throwing his hands up in mock-surrender. Because he, unlike certain people not a million miles away from here (Curtis, Kieran) knew better to than to make sudden movements around a new cape. “It wasn’t my idea. But this operation was strictly need to know. And you didn’t.”  
  
“Less risk of tipping off the target if you maintain operational security,” Astrid murmured distractedly.  
  
“Exactly,” Nick said, amused at the looks the others sent her way.  
  
Apparently oblivious to the small wave of discombobulation she’d just sent through the bunker, Astrid nodded to herself and straightened, taking a few steps back from Nick.  
  
“There,” she said, sounding pleased. “All done.” To his eyes, she seemed relieved to put some distance between them.  
  
“Much obliged,” he said.  
  
She smiled at him as she set about seeing to her own clothing.  
  
“Quick question,” Melanie said, frowning thoughtfully. “Is that the stage blood, or the stuff from Bioengineering?”  
  
“The stuff from Bioeng,” he said. “Why?”  
  
“Well, isn’t that alive? It has living cells, anyway. Or does it?” Her frown deepened. “How long does it take for blood cells to die, anyway?”  
  
“Not that long,” Astrid said. “I’d wondered about that, too. But I’ve never had a problem using my power on blood; even fresh blood. Although all I really did with it was move it around a bit and destroy it. Nothing fancy.”  
  
“You’ve tried your power on blood?” Curtis asked, his expression both disturbed and fascinated.  
  
“Only my own,” she replied. “And I could only sense it once it was outside my body.”  
  
Her answer didn’t seem to do anything to reassure him.  
  
“You can affect fruit, too,” he said, apparently having decided to focus on the part of the conversation he didn’t find disturbing. “I guess that’s alive. Kind of.”  
  
“Like I’ve said before: my power can be really fucking whimsical,” Astrid said, grinning wryly. “If it helps, it definitely doesn’t work on living trees and other plants, just dead ones. So, who the fuck knows?”  
  
“And there we have yet another one of ETA’s mottos,” Nick said, amused. “Powers: who the fuck knows?”  
  
“Ha! I remember that,” Yas said, looking nostalgic. “That was Dr Flux, right?”  
  
“I thought it was Geostrophic,” Curtis said, frowning. “Or, rather, I think Vargas said it with reference to Geostrophic. Something about… approach vectors not working that way? Or something. I forget.”  
  
“It’s one of those sentiments that keeps coming up when you work in parahuman research,” Melanie told Astrid, smiling. “Your abilities are all so… unique. I find that utterly fascinating.”  
  
She was looking at Astrid as if the girl was a puzzle that Melanie wanted to figure out.  
  
 _Guess she is at that._  
  
Nick noticed with some amusement that Astrid was flushing bright red under Melanie’s regard. Then again, Melanie often had that effect on people.  
  
Naturally, Vincent stepped in to rescue Astrid from her own embarrassment.  
  
“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked solicitously. “I’m afraid the coffee machine has been turned off, but I believe there are still some cold drinks left.”  
  
“I’m fine,” she said, sounding a little distracted. “Thanks, though.”  
  
“It’s no trouble,” he said.  
  
“Anyway,” Kieran said firmly, apparently having decided that the time for idle chit chat was over. “I don’t know if Nick told you, Astrid, but that was the last test. The evaluation is over.”  
  
 _Well,_ Nick corrected in the privacy of his own mind. _Not quite over._  
  
He assumed that Psych would keep Astrid under observation until she arrived back in Brockton Bay. It was what he’d do, anyway.  
  
“He told me,” Astrid said, looking a little apprehensive as she met Kieran’s gaze.  
  
“Good,” Kieran said, smiling. “That’s good. In which case, I can now say that it was a pleasure working with you, Astrid.”  
  
“Um, thank you,” she said, smiling back at him. “It was nice working with you, too.” She glanced around the room. “All of you. I’ve learned a lot today.”  
  
“Well, that’s what we’re here for,” Kieran said. “Actually, that reminds me.” He pulled a slightly crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket and held it out to her. “This is my e-mail address,” he said. “If you have any ideas for power-related experiments that you want to bounce around, feel free to use me as a sounding board.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said, accepting the piece of paper. She glanced at it before tucking it carefully into one of her own pockets. “I might take you up on that, if that’s alright.”  
  
“I wouldn’t offer if it wasn’t,” he said. “Anyway, like I said before, I’ll undoubtedly be requesting your help at some point, so it seems only fair.”  
  
“Run while you can, Astrid,” Yas said dryly.  
  
Astrid rolled her eyes at her before turning back to Kieran. “I’d be happy to help with your research,” she said, sounding a little shy. “As long as Director Piggot okays it.”  
  
“Great!” he exclaimed. “I mean, it probably won’t be for a while yet, but that’s good to know. For the moment, though…” He checked his watch, wincing a little. “I think it’s way past time we got you home.”

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

Things moved pretty quickly after that. They hadn’t brought that much stuff out to the Range with them, and most of the things they had brought had been packed up and loaded into the vehicles while Nick was running Astrid through the last test. So, in what felt like hardly any time at all, they were back at the Garage, taking their leave of Astrid while Vincent waited to drive her back to the main campus.  
  
“Do try not to blow yourself up, or otherwise injure yourself playing with your power,” Yas said, smirking.  
  
Astrid rolled her eyes, but a small smile was playing about her lips as she retorted: “I’ll do my best. Since you ask so very nicely and all.”  
  
“Good. See that you do.”  
  
Nick had purposefully hung back a little, giving Astrid space to say her goodbyes to the rest of the team. He didn’t want to crowd her, that was all. It didn’t have a thing to do with being nervous about what he was planning to ask.  
  
Not one goddamned thing.  
  
Well, okay. Maybe it did, a little. But this was kind of a big fucking step.  
  
Anyway, it looked like she and Yas were done snarking at each other.  
  
 _Here goes nothing._  
  
“Hey, Astrid,” he said, wheeling himself towards her. “We can have that rematch when you come back to play human analysis lab and workshop for Kieran.”  
  
“Sounds good to me,” she said, grinning. She studied him for a moment, and then said, quietly: “It was nice to meet you.”  
  
“You too,” he said. He hesitated briefly, and then took the plunge. “You know I asked you to say hi to Cav and the others for me…?”  
  
“I remember,” she said, nodding. A small frown line formed between her eyes and she gave him a searching look. “Have you changed your mind about that?”  
  
“No, not at all,” he said hurriedly, despite the brief temptation to say yes. “Quite the opposite, actually.” He took a deep breath, firming his resolve. “I was wondering: could you ask them to get in touch with me?” He could contact them, he knew, but that… It still felt like a step too far. Asking them to contact him, though; that was different. He could do that. “These are my contact details.” Having taken a leaf out of Kieran’s book — literally, actually; he’d borrowed his notebook and one of his plethora of purloined pens for this — he held out a  sheet of paper.  
  
“I’ll pass this on, and the message,” Astrid assured him gravely. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was imagining it, but he fancied there was something a lot like approval in her eyes as she tucked the piece of paper away.  
  
“Thanks,” he said, with heartfelt gratitude. And then a whole heap of fucking awkwardness at how grateful he was. “Oh,” he said, offhandedly, not even sure he was going to say anything until the word was out of his mouth. “And feel free to get in touch if you have any questions an ex-BB PRT officer might be able to help with.”  
  
Yeah, he was bending the rules a little, but technically so had Kieran, and Kimberly hadn’t complained about that. Besides, like he kept telling Astrid: he wasn’t in her chain of command. He wasn’t in charge of the evaluation, like Kieran, and he wasn’t her subordinate, like Vincent.  
  
Anyway, his earbud remained silent, so he guessed Psych didn’t have any objections.  
  
“Thank you,” she said, her expression unreadable.  
  
“No problem,” he said, nodding. He glanced around. “Anyway, wouldn’t want to keep your ride waiting. See you around.” He smirked. “Kid.”  
  
“Not if I see you first, Old Man,” she said, smirking back. And then she headed for the car.  
  
 _Good luck,_ he thought, as he watched her leave.  
  
Given she was going back to Brockton Bay, he figured she needed all the luck she could get.

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Vincent** _

 

_Finally,_ Vincent couldn’t help thinking, trying to banish his impatience.  
  
Evaluations took as long as they took; he knew that. This wasn’t even the longest evaluation he’d ever assisted with. But Juliet was waiting for him. It hadn’t been so bad earlier; it had even been kind of… pleasant; anticipation warming him from the inside. But as the end approached, time seemed to stretch like taffy until the minutes felt like hours and he started to wonder if some kind of horrible catastrophe had occurred and Dr Ross hadn’t informed him. Worse even than the impatience had been the way that the anticipation had sharpened within him until it was no longer precisely pleasant.  
  
It was…  
  
It was ridiculous, is what it was. He obviously wasn’t nervous. There was no reason to be! Juliet had asked him to come over, and she’d said that she was looking forward to seeing him. She’d also said that dinner sounded good. (Although she’d also said that they could ‘discuss’ dinner. Whatever that meant.)  
  
(He hoped she’d just been talking about making the arrangements.)  
  
But, anyway, there wasn’t long now. He’d already texted Juliet to that effect while Astrid was taking her protracted leave of the Props Department. It was sweet, the way some of them seemed to have taken to her, and she to them. Even though he was still more than a little baffled by the way she seemed to respond better to so-called banter than to charm.  
  
Ah well. He supposed there was no accounting for taste.  
  
Still, it had been nice to hear her laugh. She’d seemed so tense and nervous for much of the evaluation, despite his best efforts to help her relax. The levity seemed to do her a world of good. Whatever her future held, he hoped she’d find more opportunities for joy.  
  
Anyway, when she smiled so openly, so unreservedly, it seemed to light up her whole face, giving her a certain… Not prettiness, but perhaps… potential. With a little time, and help, she could possibly be quite striking.  
  
Actually, that reminded him…  
  
 _I must try to catch up with Hazel tomorrow. Hopefully she’ll be able to tell me who I should to speak to about spending some time in PR._  
  
“You’re sure you’ve got everything?” he asked, as Astrid emerged from her room carrying her — noticeably more full — backpack.  
  
 _At least she’s out of those awful fatigues,_ he noted. Not that the generic costume was any great shakes, but it was definitely a vast improvement.  
  
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said, cheerfully.  
  
He’d say this for Nick: that little stunt with the fake blood had been disgusting, but it certainly seemed to have done wonders for her mood. Or maybe she was just glad that the evaluation was finally over. Although she’d also perked up noticeably when she’d put her ‘bracelets’ back on; something she’d done the moment she was settled in the car.  
  
“Then, let’s head to the airfield. I believe the Merlin pilot will be arriving shortly.”  
  
“Great!” she said, with much more enthusiasm than was truly necessary. Or sane.  
  
 _There is **definitely** no accounting for taste._

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Jane** _

 

“Someone order a taxi?” Jane drawled, stepping out of the Merlin as Astrid and her cute-but-young escort approached.  
  
(What was his name again? V-something. Vance? That sounded about right.)  
  
“Vargas,” Astrid greeted her, her expression one of pleased surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you to be still on duty.”  
  
“I’m not really on duty, per se,” Jane explained. “But I heard you needed a ride, and Sibiski didn’t mind letting me take over.”  
  
She liked to think that she had the other pilots sufficiently well-trained that they wouldn’t stand between her and the Merlin when she wanted to get up in the air. Well, okay, it helped that Sib was more than happy to slope off and actually spend some time with her poor, neglected husband. Not that Mr Sib was really one to talk, given his not infrequent research expeditions, but whatever.  
  
 _Guess I can understand wanting to make the most of their time together._  
  
“I see,” Astrid said.  
  
“I caught some rack time earlier, though, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jane continued. She grinned. “While there’s a good chance I probably could fly this baby in my sleep by this point, I have no particular plans to test that out.”  
  
“That’s… good.” Astrid eyed her like she wasn’t entirely sure how seriously she should take that.  
  
 _Just as planned._  
  
Jane liked keeping people on their toes.  
  
“You ready to go?” she asked.  
  
“Sure,” Astrid replied, nodding eagerly, and the admiring glance she gave the Merlin fair warmed Jane’s heart. It was good to meet someone who appreciated her baby.  
  
“I’ll leave you in Vargas’ capable hands, then,” Vance murmured, smiling warmly at both of them before focusing all of his attention on his former charge. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Astrid.”  
  
“You too,” Astrid said, returning his smile a little shyly. “Thanks for all your help today.”  
  
“You’re very welcome. It was no trouble at all.” His smile turned a little wry. “Like I said, I’ve wrangled far more demanding capes than you, believe me. And, before you ask, I’m afraid my lips are still sealed as to the particulars.”  
  
Astrid laughed. “Well, I hope the next one treats you well,” she said.  
  
“Thank you,” he replied. “I hope the rest of your training goes well, and I look forward to hearing about Brockton Bay’s newest hero sometime soon.”  
  
Astrid’s expression shuttered a little at that. Nervous, perhaps? _Wonder how the evaluation went._  
  
“Thanks,” she muttered a little awkwardly. “Goodbye, Vincent.”  
  
 _Oh. Right. Eh, close enough._  
  
“Goodbye, Astrid.”  
  
Astrid frowned a little as she watched him go, and Jane wondered what was troubling her.  
  
 _Nothing a little joyride won’t fix, I’m sure._  
  
And, on that note…  
  
“Alright, enough dilly-dallying,” Jane said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty damn tired of feeling ground under my feet like some sort of cave woman. What do you say we get airborne?”  
  
Astrid laughed, looking almost startled as she did so.  
  
“ **Fuck** yes,” she said, with feeling.  
  
 _I knew I liked this girl._

 

*  *  *  *  *

 

“So,” Jane said, after giving Astrid a decent amount of time to focus on enjoying soaring through the air at speeds that would make the craft’s namesake green with envy. “How’d the evaluation go?”  
  
“Who the fuck knows?” Astrid muttered. She sighed heavily. A little more loudly, she added: “It’s… really hard to say. I’m pretty sure I fucked up repeatedly, but Dr Bailey and Dr Ross **said** I did well, so…” Jane glanced at the screen showing the feed from the passenger compartment, seeing Astrid shrug expressively. “Like I said: who the fuck knows?”  
  
“I’m sure it went better than you think it did,” Jane said, in what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “Did you show them what you can do with your power?”  
  
Astrid was silent for a moment, her expression inscrutable.  
  
“Yes,” she said quietly.  
  
“Then you did fine,” Jane said, shrugging.  
  
Astrid’s expression remained closed off, but Jane didn’t think there was any point in repeating herself. She knew from the other side that when someone was convinced they’d screwed up, chances were that nothing anyone else said would change their minds. The silence stretched. A glance at the screen showed that Astrid was staring out of the window. Jane wondered idly if she was studying the Merlin as well as the view.  
  
The silence stretched some more.  
  
“I terrified some civilians,” Astrid blurted out suddenly, apropos of nothing.  
  
Jane raised her eyebrows, even though Astrid couldn’t see her.  
  
“How’d you manage that?” she asked curiously.  
  
Astrid sighed.  
  
“There was a tour going on, and the tourists wanted to see me using my power.” She shrugged. “Well, not me specifically. I think any old cape would have done, but I was the one there at the time. But it apparently wasn’t ‘exciting’ enough for them, so I…” She sighed heavily, and muttered something that Jane couldn’t quite make out.  
  
“What was that?” she asked.  
  
Astrid sighed again, and looked directly into the camera.  
  
 _Of course: she knows exactly where it is._  
  
“I set part of the road on fire.”  
  
Jane blinked.  
  
“How did you manage that?”  
  
“Atomised it,” Astrid said succinctly, if a little apprehensive.  
  
“Huh.” Jane considered that for a moment, trying to picture what it must have looked like. She grinned. “Sounds awesome. I wish I could have seen it.”  
  
“Yeah, well, I don’t think the tourists really appreciated having front row seats.”  
  
“If you ask me, they sound like a bunch of wusses,” Jane said firmly. “You made sure it was safe, right?”  
  
“Yes, of course,” Astrid said. “And I ran it by Dr Bailey first. No one was in any danger.”  
  
“Then I don’t see what their problem is. If they didn’t want ‘exciting,’ they probably shouldn’t have asked for it.”  
  
Astrid gave a half-hearted smile. “I’m not sure the PRT will see it that way.”  
  
“I doubt they’ll be that bothered,” Jane said. “You’re probably not the first cape who gave a bunch of tourists a fright, and I strongly doubt you’ll be the last. Hell, **I’ve** terrified tourists before, and I’m not even a cape!”  
  
“What happened?” Astrid asked, sounding interesting.  
  
“Some bigwigs wanted a flight in the Merlin, and then had the nerve to complain about it.” Her lips curved into a wide, wide smile. “So I let the old girl stretch her wings a little.” She patted the armrest of her seat fondly and laughed. “Oh, you should have seen the expressions of terror on their smug, stupid, complaining faces. It was utterly hilarious.”  
  
Astrid laughed with her, and then stopped, looking a little guilty.  
  
“Didn’t you get in trouble?” she asked.  
  
“Little bit. Nothing major. I mean, it wasn’t like I actually did anything dangerous. I kept everything well within tolerances; didn’t even push the envelope a smidgen. It was just a little more than those stuffed shirts were expecting. Good times.” She glanced at the monitor, pleased to see that Astrid seemed to have relaxed a little. She was still looking a little tense, though. _Clearly, what she needs is a distraction._ “So, Astrid…” she drawled.  
  
“What?” Astrid asked warily, giving the camera a suspicious glance.  
  
“Think you’re braver than a few wussy tourists, or do you want me to keep playing it safe?”  
  
Astrid’s eyes widened, as if in surprise, and then narrowed again, glittering with challenge as a feral grin spread across her face.  
  
“Do your worst, Vargas,” she said. “Show me what you can do.”  
  
Jane laughed.  
  
“Good girl,” she said, with approval. “This is going to be **fun.**

 

*  *  *  *  *

*  *  *  *  *

 

_**Kimberly** _

 

Kimberly put the cap on her pen and set it down neatly on the desk, straightening it and her notebook slightly so that the two items were perfectly aligned with each other, and the notebook was parallel to the edge of the desk. Her movements were slow, careful, deliberate.  
  
She looked up and met Astrid’s gaze.  
  
“That was my last question,” she said brightly.  
  
Astrid studied her, frowning a little. “The psychological assessment is over, Ma’am?”  
  
“That’s right,” she confirmed, giving Astrid a pleased smile, her voice warm as she added: “Thank you for being so co-operative. I know this isn’t necessarily a comfortable process, but I really do appreciate that you tried to answer the questions as best as you could. It just makes everything so much easier.”  
  
Astrid blinked at her for a moment. “Uh, you’re… welcome, Ma’am,” she said, looking nonplussed, but pleased, sitting a little straighter in her seat.  
  
“Do you have any questions for me?” Kimberly asked.  
  
“Just the one, Ma’am,” she murmured. “You said that I was going to be taken over to Medical now?”  
  
“That’s right,” Kimberly said, nodding. “I’ll call Vincent to escort you there.”  
  
“And the power evaluation will begin once Medical have finished with me?” Astrid asked. She seemed worried.  
  
“Yes,” Kimberly said, her tone reassuring. “The thing to bear in mind is that this isn’t a test. There is no pass or fail here. We just want to help you to figure out how to get the most your abilities, that’s all.” She let her smile broaden. “I think you’re going to do just fine, Astrid.”  
  
“I hope so, Ma’am,” she said. Earnestly, she added: “I’m going to do my best.”  
  
“I’m sure you will,” Kimberly said kindly.  
  
She didn’t doubt it for a second. Not that it was strictly necessary, but still.  
  
 _It really is so much easier when they co-operate._


End file.
